


A Trivial Comedy for Serious People

by nubianamy



Series: There All the Honour Lies [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Background Poly, Background Relationships, Bisexual Finn Hudson, Bottom Noah Puckerman, Cabaret Reference, Drama, Finn Hudson Lives, First Time Blow Jobs, Gay Romeo and Juliet, Importance of Being Earnest References, Internalized Homophobia, La Bohème References, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Minor Character Death, Poetry, Recreational Drug Use, Romeo and Juliet References, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 03, Summer Camp, Sunday in the Park with George References, Theater Metaphor, Theater References, Theatre, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, opera - Freeform, theater production
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 145,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25011067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nubianamy/pseuds/nubianamy
Summary: Noah and Kurt attempt to resolve their complicated relationship during their last two years of high school, while each pursuing their individual dreams of working in professional theater.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson/Original Male Character(s), Finn Hudson/Original Male Character(s), Kurt Hummel/Noah Puckerman, Kurt Hummel/Original Male Character(s), Noah Puckerman/Original Character(s)
Series: There All the Honour Lies [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/39840
Comments: 74
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the third in a canon-compliant series about Kurt Hummel and Noah Puckerman’s secret romance, and is the story that breaks with canon. It’s set almost entirely between seasons 2 and 3 of Glee, with a little overlap with season 3 and some epilogue. I strongly suggest you read, or re-read, the first two before reading this one. It continues to not be all that Blaine-friendly, but I am a fan of happy endings, so I’ve done my best for him. 
> 
> Original characters play a large part in this story, partly to round out the plot, but mostly because they wouldn’t shut up. There will be links to photos and descriptions of the people I have cast as the original characters. 
> 
> There are a lot of opera, musical, and theater references, but I’ve included links to more information along the way, so you don’t really need to be familiar with any of the shows before you begin the story—because you certainly will be by the time you finish it. There's also a [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6TNYBRFdy2h5k0DNwfu76X?si=BSeD_Zi9T1iiWHm-0aXoyg). 
> 
> Thank you so much to all the readers who encouraged me gently and not-so-gently to finish this goddamn series already. 
> 
> -nubianamy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael Lewis is played in this series by [Spencer Conley, the red-headed guitarist in jazz band](https://nubianamy.tumblr.com/post/145083626004/oc-in-those-magic-changes). 
> 
> Noah Puckerman's father, Aaron, is played in this series (as in the show) by [Thomas Calabro](https://nubianamy.tumblr.com/post/622416856753618944/actor-thomas-calabro-played-noah-puckermans).

“Okay,” said his dad, scratching his head. “Let me try this again. It’s a musical production about a bunch of starving artists living in an attic. It’s Christmas Eve, they’re going to go out… and a neighbor, Mimi, comes by to get a candle.”

“Right,” said Kurt. He buckled his shoes while his dad thought this over.

“And it’s not _RENT?”_

“It’s the opera _RENT_ was based on,” he said patiently. “Puccini. _La Bohème.”_

“But—no, no, that song’s in _RENT_ , too. Believe me, I’ve sat through that movie enough times to know it forwards and backwards.” His dad frowned. “Plus I thought you told me _RENT_ _was_ an opera.”

 _“Rock_ opera. This is a regular opera. Like the kind Michael sings.”

“Michael sings?” Carole said, looking up from her knitting in surprise. “Finn didn’t mention that. I knew he could dance, but other than playing the guitar in jazz band, I had no idea he was a musician.”

“Oh, yes, he’s excellent. Remember, you heard him do ‘Agony’ when I was Jack in _Into the Woods?_ He’s an okay actor, but his voice is what got him into NYADA. I’m sure he’d be happy to tell you all about it.” Kurt couldn’t help but smirk. “Think Rachel Berry-levels of ego.”

“I think it’s clear you need a certain amount of ego to survive in show business,” said Carole.

Kurt’s dad snorted. “What she means, and is too nice to say, Kurt, is that you’ve got a pretty healthy ego yourself. Not that it’s not deserved.”

“There’s a difference between being confident and acting like you’re the crown prince of Allen County,” said Kurt. He tossed his scarf over his right shoulder, inspecting himself in the mirror, then pulled it down and tried it over the left. “Michael makes Jesse St. James look humble by comparison.”

“Well, I think he’s very nice,” said Carole.

Kurt tried the scarf in a third position before abandoning it on the table and switching it for a narrower one. “I will admit, I have been pleasantly surprised during my personal interactions with Michael over the past few months. He may very well have hidden depths.”

“Hey, you’re not dating him,” his dad put in. “I don’t think you get to have an opinion about his, you know. Depths.”

Kurt thought he managed to contain his amusement, but apparently the one little noise that escaped was enough to spark a protest.

“Well, you don’t, do you?”

 _“Well,”_ Kurt echoed, giving his dad a meaningful look. “You’ve always had plenty to say about the boys I spent time with. Even if I wasn’t dating them.”

The question of what his dad thought about who he _was_ dating was up for debate. Since he’d returned from Dalton, his dad had remained conspicuously silent on the matter of Noah Puckerman. His dad had been polite to Noah, but that was about it. He did seem to ask about Blaine an awful lot, to which Kurt could only say one thing: _we’re taking a break until the end of the summer._

His other friends seemed to accept this as a healthy, normal thing for boyfriends to do over summer vacation.Kurt was pretty sure the only people who understood what was really happening were Rachel and Finn: Rachel because Kurt had confided in her while at Nationals, and Finn because he and Kurt shared a bedroom. It would have been hard to hide the truth from Finn.

The truth was, Kurt had tried over and over again to break up with Blaine, but Blaine had persuaded Kurt to try a less permanent option. _Things with Puck are over,_ Blaine had said to Kurt. _You’re not his boyfriend anymore._ And, as Noah’s therapist had insisted he spend some time single while he dealt with his feelings about his dad, Kurt couldn’t find a way to disagree.

As he had promised, Blaine had not called. He still showed up on Kurt’s Facebook page sometimes, “liking” things Kurt had posted, but he didn’t initiate conversation. Kurt missed him, but the relief of not having to struggle with the nature of their relationship was stronger.

“So what kind of music is it?” his dad asked.

 _“Opera,”_ sighed Kurt.

“Sing a little bit.”

He frowned. “I can’t sing like that. Hang on, I’ll play you something.”

Kurt had just located the tenor aria “[Che gelida manina](https://youtu.be/gmATq9jlyRQ)” when there was a knock at the door. He pressed play, then left the phone with his dad while he went to answer it.

Noah was standing on the porch, bouncing on his sneaker-clad toes. Somehow he managed to make casual footwear work with formal trousers. His dress shirt was unbuttoned, but not too wrinkly, and the black t-shirt he wore beneath it was clean.He tilted his head to listen to the music, then grinned.

“Hey, if you want to hold my hand, just say so,” Noah said, stepping inside the house. “But it’s about eighty-five degrees out there.”

“Hold your hand?” asked Kurt, looking at his fingers in confusion. Noah took them in his own and give them a squeeze.

“Rodolfo’s song.” He indicated the music coming from Kurt’s phone in the family room. “Right there, he’s hitting on Mimi. Okay, yeah, her hands probably were pretty cold, considering it was winter in Paris and they didn’t have any heat. Plus she had tuberculosis.”

“See, I told you, that story’s from _RENT_ too,” called his dad. “But I’m going to have to take your word. I can’t understand anything this guy is saying.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “That’s because it’s in _Italian,”_ he called back. He sighed at Noah. “It’s just as well he’s not coming with us. He would be doing this through the whole performance.”

“Well, they’ve got supertitles,” said Noah. “I don’t know Italian either. My dad translated everything for me until I had it memorized.”

Kurt knew the unspoken part of what Noah said was: _because my dad knew I couldn’t read the translation fast enough to keep up._ He didn’t bother to interpret the statement for Carole. She probably understood, too.

“Your father speaks Italian?” she said, shaking her head in amazement.

“Sort of. Enough to sing it, anyway. And French and German.” Puck wrinkled his nose at the music coming from Kurt’s phone as they sat down on the couch. “That’s Rolando Villazón, from the 2009 film. I’ll pass.”

Kurt tried not to bristle at Noah’s disdain. “I thought he sounded good.”

“No, his voice is good, but he’s a complete prick. He’s the kind of guy who gives opera singers a bad name. Nobody wants to deal with his ego, but he’s more popular than Pavarotti, so he keeps getting all the roles.”

There was another knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” said Carole. “You boys relax.”

“I didn’t think you cared what kind of a person an artist was,” Kurt said. “For example, if they were a judgmental homophobe?”

“I don’t,” said Noah. He propped his feet up on the coffee table and leaned back. “You can read me all the Orson Scott Card you want. But it’d be different if I had to deal with him in person.”

“Deal with who?” Michael came around the side of the couch and reached across the coffee table to shake his dad’s hand. “Hi, Mr. Hummel. Nice scarf, Kurt.”

“Thanks,” said Kurt. “Rolando Villazón is apparently a grade-A jerk.”

Michael cocked his head, focusing on the phone. He shrugged. “I actually heard he was a nice guy. He’s got a wife and kids. It was the stress of being on stage with Netrebko, all the publicity and the strain of the schedule, that made him sick on tour.”

“Oh yeah?” Noah gave him a stony look as Kurt paused the music. “You figure that’s what made him cheat on his wife, too?”

“Kurt tells us you sing opera,” said Carole. It was a polite redirection, but Kurt put a hand on Noah’s leg to repress any further argument.

Michael nodded. “Yeah, I’m a tenor, like Villazón. Not that I sound like him, but I sing in his range. I did that aria last year.”

His dad looked impressed despite himself. “You can sing that song? In Italian?”

“I fake it,” he said, smiling modestly. “I know how it’s supposed to sound, but I don’t really know what I’m saying.” 

Michael took a breath, and without warning, sang a phrase from the aria:

 _In povertà mia lieta  
_ _scialo da gran signore  
_ _rime ed inni damore._

 _Per sogni e per chimere  
_ _e per castelli in aria,  
_ _lanima ho milionaria._

His voice was rich and full, moving up and down the scale with ease. It shouldn’t have startled Kurt, not after three years of singing with Michael on stage in summer musicals, but the truth was, Michael’s voice had dramatically improved since Kurt had last heard him sing.

His dad glanced from Michael to the phone, as if he wasn’t sure if it might not still be playing. Carole was clearly delighted. Noah didn’t react, but he didn’t make a snarky comment either, which was better than nothing.

As Michael concluded the phrase, Finn ascended the basement staircase, pausing on the top step, staring at Michael as he sang. He looked like someone had struck him over the head with a cartoon baseball bat.

“Wow!” said Carole. She touched Michael on the arm in admiration. “That sounded just like the recording!”

“Maybe someday I’ll be that good,” Michael said, laughing. “So, yeah, I know how to make it sound like Italian, but I only kind of know what the words mean.”

Noah cleared his throat. “He said, _‘I live in poverty, but I squander rhymes and love songs like a lord, and when it comes to dreams and castles in the air, I’ve got the soul of a millionaire.’_ ”

There was an awkward silence. Noah wasn’t looking at anyone in particular as he spoke. Kurt suspected Noah could recite the entire translation of the libretto of _La Bohème,_ just as he knew thousands of lines from plays by heart. He also knew exactly how jarring it was to reconcile that idea, even now, with Noah’s shaved head and cocky attitude.

“Cool,” said Michael softly.

Kurt followed Michael’s gaze across the room. His eyes were on Finn emerging from the basement. Finn had apparently recovered well enough to walk and talk.

“What you were singing, was that from the opera we’re seeing?” Finn asked. “I don’t really know much about it, but Kurt said he’d tell me the plot on the way down to Dayton.”

“You already know the plot,” said Kurt. He tugged on Noah’s sleeve. “It’s just the tunes that are different. And the language. Dad, we’ll be home late, so don’t wait up.”

Kurt knew his dad probably would, but he had to say it anyway. At least his dad didn’t add any proscription against boyfriends staying the night. Perhaps his dad thought that went without saying. It didn’t make a difference to Kurt and Noah, who weren’t having sex, but judging by the looks Finn and Michael gave each other as they climbed into the back of the Navigator, he might not be able to make that assumption about them.

After months of regular drives back and forth to Lima from Dalton, the drive to the opera house in Dayton didn’t feel so long to Kurt, but he could tell Noah didn’t agree. He sat shifting restlessly in the front passenger seat while Finn asked questions and listened to Michael talk about _La Boheme._

“How come you never sang songs like this?” Finn asked, tapping Kurt on the shoulder over the driver’s seat.

“I never felt like I had that kind of voice,” said Kurt. “It’s not my favorite kind of music, anyway, so I didn’t bother to practice that way. It’s the kind of thing that takes training. I bet you’ve had years of lessons, Michael.”

“Four years so far,” Michael said, “but I have a lot to learn.” In the rear-view mirror, Kurt watched his hand brush Finn’s knee. “I like singing with you guys too. At your dad’s bachelor party, Kurt—that was really fun.”

“It really was,” Kurt agreed. “You and Finn should do some more singing together, before…”

He trailed off, watching Finn’s face fall and Michael look away. Noah let out a loud sigh.

“Way to kill the mood, Kurt.”

“Sorry,” said Kurt. He shuffled through the CDs in his dashboard and came up with _Into the Woods._ “Here, how about this?”

Michael shot him a look when Kurt cued up “Agony,” but he smiled. “I haven’t heard this in a while.”

“You and Sam sang this together,” said Finn, his eyes brightening. “Before he joined Glee. I love this song.”

He watched Michael in anticipation as the first few lines went by, but Michael wasn’t even humming under his breath.

“Oh, come on, really?” Kurt muttered. He raised his voice so they could hear him in the back. “Michael. Aren’t you going to sing?”

Michael actually looked surprised. “Really?”

“Uh, _yeah,”_ said Noah disdainfully. “What, you don’t do that or something?”

“My friends hate it when I sing along.”

There was a stunned silence as the prince on the CD went on singing without them.

 _“Why?”_ asked Finn. “Dude, isn’t that the point of having a recording of something?”

“I’m just kind of loud,” Michael protested, laughing. “Maybe they actually want to hear the CD. I don’t know.”

“Well, the driver gets to make the rules,” said Kurt, “and I say you get to sing to whatever you want to sing to. Tunefully, if possible. Loud is encouraged.”

Michael looked at Finn, who nodded enthusiastically. He grinned. “Okay.”

Kurt started the track over, and this time [Michael sang the part of Cinderella’s prince](https://youtu.be/LFgMowOwek0). He didn’t look at Finn while he was doing it, but Finn’s face went immediately red, and he hung on every word.

 _Did I abuse her  
_ _Or show her disdain?  
_ _Why does she run from me?_

 _If I should lose her,  
_ _How shall I regain  
_ _The heart she has won from me?_

 _Agony!  
_ _Beyond power of speech,  
_ _When the one thing you want  
_ _Is the only thing out of your reach._

Kurt obliged by singing the part of Rapunzel’s prince, hamming it up the way the part was meant to be done. Noah actually laughed out loud when he sang, _“When you know she would go with you / If there only were doors.”_

“Yeah,” said Finn in satisfaction, when the song was over. He poked Michael’s leg. “You should sing along. Every time.”

Michael cleared his throat. “You got anything up there that all of us could sing with, Kurt?”

Noah snorted, sorting through the pile of CDs. “Highly doubtful.” Then he paused, and said, in a very different voice, “Where did you get this?”

Kurt glanced over as Noah held up Bon Jovi’s _Slippery When Wet._ He laughed, feeling his gut clench. “I picked it up last fall.”

 _After you told me about your favorite love song,_ he didn’t say, because it was entirely possible Noah wouldn’t want that fact shared with Michael.

“Oh, man, Puck, remember you and me doing that music video to “You Give Love A Bad Name” when we were, like, eleven?” said Finn happily. “You practiced that guitar solo about a thousand times.”

“Accurate,” said Noah. He put the CD in, then grinned at Michael over his shoulder. “You played guitar for the girls in Glee when they did their “Livin’ on a Prayer” mashup last year.”

“Yeah,” said Michael. “That was fun.”

“So how come you didn’t play when the dudes did Bon Jovi? We did that mashup with _It’s My Life._ ”

He paused. “Well, Artie wanted to play.”

“No, now I remember,” Noah said. “Artie started with the solo, but then he passed the guitar to somebody else from jazz band.”

“That’s right,” said Finn. He looked curiously at Michael. “Were you sick that day or something?”

Michael let out a little nervous laugh that sounded nothing like him. He scratched his ear. “Honestly? I, um. I asked Andrew to play on that song because I wanted to watch.”

“You wanted to watch us?”

“You,” he said softly, not looking at Finn. “I wanted to watch you.”

Finn immediately closed his mouth and stared at his lap. He sat there, drumming on his thighs through the rest of “Let It Rock,” but when “[You Give Love A Bad Name](https://youtu.be/KrZHPOeOxQQ)” came on, he said to Kurt, “Turn it up.”

Finn, as usual, sang loudly and enthusiastically. Noah rolled his eyes—after which he launched into an equally loud and energetic harmony. It seemed to startle Michael, and he witnessed the two of them singing for a few moments without making any sound.

On the second verse, Kurt leapt in with the grittiest, growliest voice he could muster, going for the lowest part in three-part harmony when appropriate. Michael burst out laughing, and finally joined in.

When they were done, Noah reached back and punched Michael on the leg, making him flinch. “I can’t believe you ever let anybody ever tell you not to sing along. Screw ‘em. They’re just jealous.”

That was as close to a compliment as anything Noah had ever said to Michael. Kurt could see Michael’s pale skin redden in the rear-view mirror, competing with his hair.

As the intro to “Livin’ on a Prayer” began, Noah became still. Finn and Michael seemed engaged in an air-guitar-and-drums duet, so Kurt felt pretty comfortable reaching across and taking his hand. Noah didn’t resist, his fingers stiff.

“I can turn it off,” said Kurt in an undertone.

Noah’s head jerked up, and he gave Kurt an angry shake of his head.

“I can deal,” he said. “It’s… fine.”

That was obviously a lie, but it was the kind of lie Kurt guessed Noah knew was obvious, so he didn’t say anything. He just held Noah’s unresponsive hand especially hard through the chorus while Michael and Finn sang the song together.

Kurt caught Finn humming “Agony” as they parked at Marion’s Pizza. He linked his arm with Finn’s.

“Would you please give me some idea of where you’re going with this?” Kurt asked sweetly. “Because I’m new to the double-dating phenomenon, and I have the sense the two of you have the potential for something more than a kiss at the end of the night.”

Finn turned pale and shook his head rapidly. “No, that’s not—we’re not doing that. I told you, we’re going to keep this friendly.”

“You’ll let me know if the plan changes, then?”

“Sure. Okay.” He looked over at Noah, who was waiting impatiently by the door. “What about you? Still the same?”

Finn knew enough about their situation that the details were implicit in his question and raised eyebrow. Noah was still working on himself with his therapist. He’d told Kurt, as long as he was with Blaine, there would be no sex, no matter how much of a “break” they were on.

“Still the same,” Kurt confirmed.

Noah ordered three thin-crust pizzas, which he assured them was the only good thing on the menu. Michael slid into the booth and opened the first box, hefting a tiny square toward his mouth. He didn’t even wait for Kurt to hand him a plate. Ignoring the sauce and green peppers as they dribbled over the back of his hand, he bit off a corner, huffing.

“Hot,” he said, and took another big bite. He swallowed. “Yum.”

Finn eyed him as he dragged a couple squares onto his plate. “Dude, you want a fork?”

“I’m good. See, I’m pizza-safe.” Michael indicated his maroon shirt and paisley tie with his clean hand. Finn didn’t say anything more, but he kept his gazed fixed on the progress of Michael’s lips and tongue as he ate.

“I guess I don’t have to ask you what you’re doing this summer,” Kurt said to Michael, with a laugh that sounded a little too loud in his own ears. “You’re auditioning for _Sunday in the Park with George?”_

“I was thinking about it,” Michael said. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand until Finn passed him a napkin. “It’s a good show, and I bet this’ll be my last chance to play a big role for a while.”

“I don’t think I know that play,” Finn said. “Sunday in the park…?”

 _“With George,”_ said Kurt, waving his hand. “It’s a Sondheim musical. I’ve got the Mandy Patinkin and Bernadette Peters version on DVD. We can watch it tomorrow.”

“Not sure why Sondheim bothered to write a whole musical about a French guy who painted a million tiny dots.” Noah grinned at Kurt’s outraged expression. “But, sure, whatever. I’m in.”

Kurt sniffed. “Who said I was inviting you anyway?”

They ate as much pizza as they could stomach and tossed the boxes containing the remainder in the back of the Navigator. Noah directed Kurt across town to the parking lot of the Encore, which was only just beginning to fill up.

“You want the backstage tour?” offered Noah.

Michael’s face perked up, but Finn hesitated.“Oh, I don’t know—”

“You want the tour,” Kurt said, linking an arm through Finn’s and steering him toward the rear basement entrance. “Wait until you see. This is so cool.”

He waited until Noah unlocked the rusty padlock on the outside door to follow them inside, smiling at Michael’s excited response to the mountains of discarded props in the musty storage room. Noah paused in the doorway for Kurt to join him.

“I spent five hours down here a couple weeks ago with my dad, packing this shit into boxes,” he said. “There’s still a lot of props left in there, but it’s not as full as it was when you and Blaine came to visit.”

“Nothing stays the same forever,” Kurt said briskly. He gazed into the dimly-lit basement and tried not to be distracted by the closeness of Noah’s arm, the scent of his cheap aftershave.

“I don’t know.” Noah shrugged, looking up at the heavy wooden rafters. “It always felt like this place would always be here.”

Kurt looked sharply at Noah. “What do you mean?”

“Just, you know. Money.” He rubbed his arms, grimacing. “Apparently the opera house is in financial trouble. My dad told me. For the first time in decades, they haven’t made enough this year from season tickets to finance next year’s productions.”

“You think they’re planning to cut back?”

“Sounds like. Cut all non-essential personnel, that kind of thing.”

“That doesn’t mean they’d fire your dad?”

Noah shrugged again. “Doesn’t mean they won’t.” He raised his voice, shifting to a relaxed, cheerful tone. “Hey, Finn, check out that trunk by the wall. No, the one with the iron bands. There’s a secret compartment. Lemme show you.”

The familiar woman behind the ticket counter at the box office smiled at them as they walked through the doors to the lobby, and gave Kurt a little wave. “How’s it going, Noah?”

“Bringing my friends to see _La Bohème,”_ he said.

She didn't accuse him of dodging the question, but rather just nodded as they moved on. Considering Noah’s history with his dad, and his dad’s history with drugs, Kurt wasn't all that surprised.

The ushers let them into the auditorium early so they could walk the aisles of the enormous curtained room. Kurt wondered if they would see Aaron Puckerman before the show, but he didn’t seem to be anywhere nearby.

“You come down here a lot?” Michael asked Noah.

“On and off, since I was a kid. Right now, it’s about once a week.”

Finn raised an eyebrow. “Dude, that’s a lot of miles on your truck.”

“It’s part of my dad’s rehab,” Noah explained. He didn’t look upset by the conversation, but Kurt could tell it was a little forced. “Therapy sessions. For both of us, alone and together.”

Finn made a face. “Bet that’s fun.”

“Yeah, well, if it works, it’s a lot better than watching him OD again.”

Then Noah stopped walking, and his mouth tightened. Kurt followed his gaze up the aisle to where his dad was standing, talking to the head usher. For a second, Kurt thought Noah might turn around and head in the opposite direction, but when Mr. Puckerman beckoned them over, there was no plausible exit strategy.

“Finn Hudson,” said Mr. Puckerman, his voice irregular but strong. “I remember you. It’s been years.”

Finn glanced back and forth between Noah’s closed expression and Aaron Puckerman’s lopsided, droopy face with anxious uncertainty. Michael managed a far more convincing smile and easy handshake.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I'm Michael. We were just getting a tour. This place is great.”

Mr. Puckerman nodded. He gestured at Finn. “So the two of you…?”

“Oh, uh.” Finn let out a little wild laugh, stepping in and waving a hand, like a referee negating a play. “We’re not. I mean… I _am,_ but we’re not.”

“You’re not… in theater?” Mr. Puckerman prompted.

Finn’s eyes widened, and his gaze flickered to Kurt in desperation. “Uh—“

“I was admitted to NYADA in the fall,” Michael spoke up. “Finn’s in Glee club with Puck.”

“Puck.” Mr. Puckerman chuckled softly. “I didn’t realize people were still calling you that, Noah.”

“People call me all kinds of things.” Noah wasn’t smiling.

For a moment, Kurt wondered if he was going to need to stage some kind of intervention, but then Mr. Puckerman bowed his head, in acceptance or disappointment, Kurt wasn’t sure. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Michael. Enjoy the show, boys.”

Finn sank down into an empty velvet-covered seat, clutching the carved wood back with one shaky hand. “Fuck. That was awkward.”

“It’s hard to know what to say when people put you on the spot like that,” Kurt soothed. “Even if he didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

“Yeah, well, it _sounded_ like he was asking if we were together. If I was—“ His brow furrowed.

“Finn, it took me years to be able to say it out loud without having a panic attack.”

“But I’ve _said_ it before,” Finn said in obvious frustration. “To my mom, and at school. It wasn’t easy, but—it’s not like I’m not _ashamed_ of it or anything.”

Michael crouched down in the aisle, so he was at eye level with Finn. He reached out and took Finn’s hand, and Finn clutched it. “You don’t have to apologize or justify how you feel. It’s none of his business. It’s nobody’s business but yours.”

Kurt decided the moment was a little intimate for four. He tugged Noah down the aisle toward the stage.

“Andrea made you say it to me, the first time,” Noah said as they walked. “Remember that?”

“Of course I remember. It was at the _Grease_ cast party, the summer before ninth grade.”

“I thought that was pretty fucking brave of you.”

Kurt sighed. “Yes, well… I almost said _I love you_ instead. _That_ would have made that evening a lot more awkward.”

If Noah was startled by that declaration, he didn’t show it. When they reached the stage, he ran a hand along the worn edge of the proscenium.

“They’re doing _Amadeus_ here this fall,” he said. “My dad thinks I should audition for Wolfgang.”

“Oh, wow.” Kurt blinked, feeling a flood of combined excitement and envy. “You’d be amazing in that role.”

“Except I’ve never done adult parts here. I’ve always played the kid. Tiny Tim in _A Christmas Carol,_ Charley Bates in _Oliver!,_ Michael in _Peter Pan._ ”

“So?”

“So, you really think Felix and the rest of the regulars would take me seriously?”

“If your dad’s the one who suggested you do it, I don’t see why not.”

Noah’s eyes flitted from one corner of the auditorium to the other. “Yeah, but I think we’ve already established he just wants me to do all the things he can’t do anymore. Be the big fish in the little pond.”

Kurt laughed. “This is still a pretty big pond. If you could make it here…”

“Yeah, then what? I’m not going to end up settling down in _Dayton_ , not if I can help it.” His lip twisted his expression into something harder, more determined than Kurt had seen in a long time.

“So,” Kurt said, trying to keep it light, “if not Dayton, where, then?”

“Depends.” Noah leaned back against the stage.

Kurt swallowed on a suddenly dry throat. “On?”

“On what’s happening with us.”

“On whether we’re together, you mean.”

Noah shrugged. Kurt knew that conversation wasn’t going to get them anywhere. There was no sense in wishing for things he couldn’t have. He glanced over his shoulder at Michael and Finn, who looked like they might be ready to start making out right there in the aisle.

“It’s not a simple question, whether you’re with somebody or not.”

“You’re still with Blaine, Kurt,” Noah said quietly. “Not with me. It’s that simple.”

 _Because you won’t give me what I want,_ he thought petulantly. _Because you can’t give up this straight boy persona you’ve built for yourself. Because you’re too scared to be honest with the world about who you are._ But even as the reasons filtered through his head, Kurt knew none of them were the real answer.

“Okay,” he said at last. “Maybe it is. But you’re going to a place this summer where you can play whatever role you want. You get to be… anybody. Anybody at all. Right?” Kurt gestured to the theater around them. “So why can’t you do that here, too? Your dad doesn’t dictate your role. Neither does Felix or anybody else. No matter who _they_ think you are, _you_ get to decide the truth.”

“For fuck’s sake, Kurt.” Noah grinned. “You’re beginning to sound like my therapist.”

“I’m better than your therapist,” Kurt assured him, patting his arm.

“Yeah, I don’t get to mess around with him.”

Kurt regarded him archly. “Oh, you really think you get to mess around with me? What happened to _not being together?”_

“There’s a lot of room between messing around and being together.”

Noah’s tone was teasing, but his eyes held a challenge. It was one Kurt wasn’t ready to meet. He let his gaze settle on the middle distance, the one all actors use to make the audience think they’re looking at them. 

“I’m not making any promises.”

“Yeah.” Noah nudged his shoulder. “Me either. I think that’s the point.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris Janssen is played in this story [by Lucas Till](https://nubianamy.tumblr.com/post/622555945072050176/i-chose-lucas-till-as-the-representation-of-my-oc).

“Okay, can I just say that ending was a lot more depressing than _RENT?”_ Finn said on their way back to the Navigator.

Kurt snorted. “More depressing than watching Angel die of complications from AIDS?”

“Well… at least in _RENT_ there was more story after Angel. It wasn’t just, sorry, you went to get some medicine and she died while you were gone, _the end.”_

“Tragedies are like that,” Michael said cheerfully. He opened the door and climbed into the seat behind Kurt’s. “You know, somebody should do a production of _La Bohème_ using the set and costumes from _RENT._ I like contemporary settings of operas.”

“You were expecting something more hopeful?” Kurt asked Finn.

Finn sighed, buckling his seat belt. “I guess. Rodolfo had a pretty sucky thing going. By the end, Mimi was dead and he was poor _and_ alone.”

“Dude, it’s just a story,” Noah called from the front seat.

Kurt watched Michael reach across the back seat and rest his hand on Finn’s leg. “You don’t always get a second chance. Sometimes things only happen once, and then they’re gone.”

“Way to cheer him up,” muttered Kurt as he started the ignition. Noah snickered.

“I just mean,” said Michael, “that’s the theme of the story. _No day but today._ Just because things are fleeting doesn’t mean they’re not worth doing.”

“Even if your heart breaks and you’re left by yourself to pick up the pieces?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Noah twisted around in his seat and faced Michael. “How pathetic can you get?”

Michael snatched his hand away from Finn’s knee, glaring at Noah in outrage. “What the hell, man?”

“The two of you. It’s _June._ You’ve got a whole fucking summer together before you head to New York. Just _enjoy it.”_ He reached back to Finn and slapped the side of his head. Finn flinched away, protesting. “And _you?_ What’s this shit about being left alone? You’ve got a brand-spanking-new family. Your mom and your stepdad don’t give one flying fart that you like dudes. Not to mention the whole fucking Glee club’s behind you. Yeah, September’s probably going to suck balls. You know what? Tough shit.”

For a while, the only thing Kurt could hear was Finn’s labored breathing and his own rapid heartbeat in his ears. He watched Michael staring at Noah in the mirror, but it didn’t appear that the fight was going to continue, so he accelerated north onto I-75 toward Lima.

“I guess I do have it pretty good,” Finn said at last, his voice subdued. “My mom, and Burt, and Kurt being home, and… ”

Noah let out a snort. “Yeah, okay, we don’t need to hear your daily affirmations.”

But Finn wasn’t talking anymore. Another peek in the mirror told Kurt that Michael didn’t look angry anymore, either.

“I’m sorry,” said Finn.

“For what?” Michael replied.

“I know you said, you don’t want to deal with all of this.”

“It’s not even that.” Michael turned away to face the window. There was a long pause before he spoke again, and when he did, it was haltingly, not at all like his usual confident self. “Before… _all of this,_ I’d never said anything to anybody about… myself. Not even to the guys I was fooling around with. I just… didn’t go there.”

“You told me you don’t like labels,” Kurt said. “At my dad’s bachelor party.”

“Yeah. I know.” There was another long pause. “They always talked about you, Kurt. All the summer theater kids at the Encore. They said stuff behind your back, about you being gay. It wasn’t all that nice.”

Kurt flexed his hands on the steering wheel. “I know.”

“I didn’t want anybody talking about me that way. I think… I just convinced myself it wasn’t important, that what I was _doing_ didn’t mean anything about who I _was._ So I didn’t tell anybody.” He looked back at Finn, who was watching him in silence. “My parents, they don’t know anything about this. About me. About you.”

“That’s okay,” said Finn.

“It’s not,” Michael said. “Not actually.”

This time the pause felt a little less fraught. Kurt relaxed his grip on the steering wheel.

“So what words would you use?” Kurt asked. “If you _were_ going to tell somebody.”

“Uh…” Michael laughed. “Somebody like who? I don’t even know.”

“For yourself, I mean. What label would you choose, if you decided to use one?”

“I don’t know,” he said again.

“You think you like girls?” Noah asked.

“Well… yeah.” Michael was speaking slowly, thoughtfully.

Noah jerked a thumb at Finn. “The same way you like this guy?”

Kurt held his breath, wondering if Michael was going to decide at any moment that the questions were too personal and stop talking, or possibly start beating the crap out of Noah.

“Hey, you don’t have to answer that,” Finn said in an undertone.

“No,” said Michael, still slowly. “I don’t think so.”

Finn paused. “Uh… you don’t think you’ll answer, or—?”

“No, it… it’s not the same.”

“So, that’s something.” Noah sounded somewhat satisfied by Michael’s answer. Finn in the rear view mirror just looked floored. “So the next question is, is it different because he’s a dude, or because he’s _Finn Hudson?”_

Michael shifted in his seat while Kurt said, warningly, “Noah…”

“I guess everybody’s heard that story by now,” Michael said quietly. “So much for things told in confidence.”

“Don’t blame Kurt,” Finn begged. “He practically had to tell me the entire conversation to get me to believe him. _You_ were the one who told me you just wanted to be friends. And it turns out you—“

“Ancient history, Finn,” Noah said. “C’mon, you’re not going to be pissed at him for carrying a torch for you for two years, are you? So, Mikey, what’s the word? Guys in general, or just this one?”

“Leave him alone!” Kurt snapped. “Why are you harassing him?Maybe he doesn’t want to answer.”

“No, I do,” said Michael. “I mean, of all the people in the world who wouldn’t judge me for saying it, you guys are at the top of the list. Except maybe you, Puck.”

Noah’s grin had faded. “Yeah, because we both know it doesn't matter.”

“Why?” Finn looked at Noah, then back at Michael, but he remained silent. “Why would he judge you?” he asked again.

“Because,” said Noah. He crossed his arms. “If he’s gonna make it as a freshman at NYADA, he can’t spend all his energy obsessing over anybody, no matter if they’re a dude or a chick.”

“I’m not _obsessing,”_ Michael muttered.

Kurt glanced over at Noah. “Actors can’t have boyfriends?”

“Not freshmen. Not if we want to compete.” Michael hid his face in his hand and sighed. “Jesus.”

There was another extended pause as Kurt drove on. Eventually, Finn cleared his throat.

“The first person I told about liking guys was Rachel. But I didn’t put a label on myself until I talked to my mom? I didn’t even know what word I was going to say until I opened my mouth _mom, I’m bisexual_ came out. After that, saying it to everybody in Glee was pretty easy.”

“Does that label imply you would still date girls?” Kurt asked.

“Dude, I'm still a little nervous about the idea of dating anyone _other_ than girls. At least I’ve decided it’s possible.”

“I suppose everybody’s bisexual in one way or another,” said Michael. “There’s a lot of really hot people out there.”

“Yeah, but it’s not just about that,” said Noah. “It’s about who really does it for you. If you know you like to fuck dudes, but you end up wimping out and settling for a chick because you’re scared of what other people will think, what’s that make you?” He tapped the dashboard. “I’ll tell you what: a closeted gay dude.”

“And that would be you?” said Michael.

Noah stopped tapping and became very still. Then he glanced back at Michael for a moment before turning around again to stare fixedly out the front window.

“What, did everybody talk about _me_ in theater, too?” he asked, his voice flat.

“No,” Michael said. “Nobody did. That’s why I never suspected about you and—and anybody.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Noah laughed mirthlessly. “I play a pretty believable straight guy, huh?”

“Hey, no. It’s your business.” But Michael didn’t sound as certain as he had when he’d spoken those words to Finn at the theater.

“Yeah, but that’s not what you just said.”

“That’s not what you just said either,” Kurt reminded him. “You’re the one who’s pressuring Michael to divulge his sexual orientation.”

“Look, let’s just drop it, okay?” Michael said. “Nobody said anything to me, Puck. Your secret, whatever it is, is safe. And Kurt, he wouldn’t confirm or deny anything, even when I asked.”

“Oh, yeah?” Noah said. “When was that?”

“Noah. He said _drop it.”_

Kurt glared across the aisle at Noah, who was digging into his the fabric of his suit pants with all ten of his fingers. There were plenty of things he was ready to fling at Noah, mostly about what a hypocrite he was being, but none of it was new, and certainly none of it would help resolve the situation.

They rode the rest of the way home in silence. When Kurt pulled into his driveway, Michael climbed out and headed for his own car with a muttered, “See you,” before Kurt had even put it in park.

Finn didn’t appear to be angry. He just stood there and watched Noah slam the door and stalk toward his beat-up truck, parked at the end of the block. Kurt stood beside Finn and watched him go.

“You know, I can’t help but remember the day Blaine came to McKinley the first time, to help me with Karofsky,” Kurt said. “When he confronted him, Karofsky threw him up against the wall. Blaine’s only comment was, _well, he’s not coming out any time soon.”_

“But Puck’s not like that,” said Finn. “At least not usually. Not anymore.”

“No. But I can’t exactly predict when he will be or when he won’t be. That’s what makes this untenable.” He gestured at Michael’s BMW as it slowly rounded the corner and disappeared into the shadows of the neighborhood. “He, on the other hand, was remarkably patient with that whole conversation.”

Finn shrugged as they walked up the steps of the porch. “Yeah, well, let’s see if he comes over at all this week.”

Kurt held the front door open for Finn. “Are you kidding? He’s been here almost every day since school got out.”

“Yeah.” Finn glanced back over his shoulder at the empty street, looking troubled. “That night after Burt’s bachelor party, things got messed up between us. Ever since I told him _no,_ for real… I don’t know, Kurt. He hasn’t done anything.”

Kurt nodded. “That’s what you wanted, right?”

“As long as he wanted it to be a secret, yeah. We agreed, _just friends._ I figured I’d rather have him as a friend than try to sneak around. But…” He swallowed. “I mean, what if Puck’s right? What if we _are_ being pathetic? Maybe we should just, you know, enjoy the summer together?”

“That depends.” Kurt closed the door firmly. “Are you _just friends_ because it would be easier not to have to say goodbye in the fall?”

Finn shrugged. “I guess.”

“Or is it because you told him _no_ and he’s waiting until you tell him _yes?”_

Finn looked startled by this idea. “I don’t… I mean, maybe? Do you think that’s what he’s doing?”

“I don’t think you’d know for sure unless you ask him.”

It would have been easier just to tell Finn about the conversation he’d had with Michael before their performance of “Born That Way,” but Kurt wasn't about to do that. Whatever Michael was feeling about Finn, he still had a right to say no if Finn told him he’d changed his mind.

 _But he wouldn’t say no,_ he thought, watching Finn slowly descend the stairs to the basement. _Not if Finn said yes. I’m sure of it._

The rest of the house was dark and quiet. Carole and his dad had already gone to sleep. They’d trusted Kurt to get everybody back from the opera house on their own. Things had certainly changed since he’d returned from Dalton. They were still changing. This fall, he’d turn eighteen. He would be applying for college soon. With any luck, he’d be the one moving to New York next year.

As he stood by the front window and gazed out, Kurt realized Noah’s truck was still parked in the same spot it had been in, on the corner of Oakland and Glenwood. It was too far away for him to spot any movement inside. With a sigh, he took out his phone and typed out a text.

_I think Noah is sitting outside my house in his car._

He got a reply from Chris right away. _Waiting for you to come out, maybe?_

 _Maybe,_ Kurt agreed. _It’s this kind of passive-aggressive bullshit that just makes me want to scream._

_Like you never do anything like that._

He squinted into the dim lamplight of the neighborhood street. Maybe Noah had left the truck there and was doing other things, although what those things might be, Kurt had no idea.

 _He was a dick and a half to Michael in the car on the way back from La Boheme,_ he typed.

_No wonder he’s still out there. He’s waiting for you to tell him he’s okay._

Kurt frowned at his phone. _He’s the one who screwed up. Why do I have to be the one to fix this for him?_

_Because his mom’s been telling him he’s worthless all his life._

He blinked, watching the words blur. When they came back into focus, he replied, _You’re a lot more patient with him than I am._

_Yeah, but have you noticed? He’s parked outside your house, not mine._

_I don’t think I can invite him inside._ Kurt sighed. _I’d better go out there. Talk to you tomorrow._

_Good luck._

Kurt never begrudged Chris’ insightful observations about Noah’s state of mind, but he sometimes wondered if there was a reason why he sometimes had a hard time seeing it himself. Hadn’t he spent the last three years getting to know Noah, intimately? It was true that a good portion of that time had been spent with them at odds with one another. And even when things had been at their best, he’d often felt like there were pieces of the puzzle he didn’t have.

He slid his phone back into his pocket before quietly opening the front door and closing it again behind himself, then making his way down the deserted street. He approached Noah’s truck from the passenger side and tapped on the window. Now he could see that Noah was sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Pull the handle,” Kurt called, pointing.

Noah reached over and lifted it while Kurt tugged from the outside. Eventually, the door gave way with a complaining groan.

“I’d fix it, if the truck was worth a shit,” he said.

“Your sister doesn’t mind climbing in from the driver’s side,” said Kurt, “and I don’t either.” He hauled the door shut, then regarded Noah expectantly. “Were you going to wait out here all night?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged, staring at the steering wheel. “Maybe just until I was sure Michael wasn’t coming back to the house.”

“I think Finn went to bed. He wasn’t really up for an all-nighter argument.”

“What, and you are?”

Kurt reached out and put a hand on Noah’s knee. Noah stared at it, like he didn’t know what to make of it.

“Not an argument,” Kurt said. “Maybe an apology.”

His eyes narrowed. “You really think I’m gonna apologize to Michael?”

“Well, that would be nice, but I think we’ve established you’re not really all that nice. No, I meant I wanted to apologize to you.”

Noah’s eyes moved up to Kurt’s shoulder. “You didn’t do anything.”

“For not telling you a long time ago that Michael had asked about us,” he clarified. “More than once.”

Noah made a snorting noise. “Sometimes I can’t believe everybody doesn’t know about us already. Most of Glee club knows, or they guessed, like Michael did.”

“Guessing is different from knowing. They’ve probably guessed about Finn and Michael, too.” Kurt squeezed Noah’s knee and watched as a variety of emotions flickered over his face. “Are you… mad at him?”

“At Michael?” Noah sneered. “For what?”

“I don’t know. You seemed pretty upset at him on the ride back.”

“Nah. It was just annoying, watching them do the dance.”

“The dance?”

Noah picked at the loose rubber on the sole of his shoe. “You know. It’s the theme of every love story, ever. Like we don’t all know how it’s supposed to go. They’re just trying to duck playing the leads.”

“Why do you think they’re doing that?”

“Fuck if I know. Maybe because Michael still thinks he should be playing opposite a chick.”

Kurt leaned back against the seat and sighed. “You can’t define his sexuality for him, Noah.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I should. Finn deserves it, but he’s got his head so far up his ass… sometimes I wonder how he ever figures anything out.” Despite the harsh words, Noah’s tone was genial, even fond.

“You’ve been figuring things out for Finn for a long time, haven’t you?” Kurt twisted his lip when Noah laughed. “You think you can give them a happy ending just by throwing them together for a summer? You of all people should know it’s not that simple.”

“I don’t need to do anything. They just have to give themselves permission to be fucking _happy_ , without freaking out about what’s next.” He wrestled with his shoe, which was more frayed than ever. “It’s not like anything lasts forever anyway.”

“So they deserve some fleeting happiness.” Kurt gently took Noah’s hand off his shoe and held it in his own. “What about you? What do you deserve?”

Noah definitely looked like he wanted to pull away, but he didn’t. “I’m not talking about me.”

“You’re not part of every love story ever?”

“Not right now, no.” He started to say more, then stopped. His gaze wandered restlessly to the front window.

“What are you part of, then?”

“Boy, you’re full of fucking questions tonight,” Noah snapped.

“I just want to know—“

“Yeah, well, you know what? There’s a lot I want to know, too. I don’t exactly have all the answers, okay?” He was shouting now. It felt very loud in the cab of Noah’s truck, but Kurt refused to flinch. “That’s kind of the point of therapy.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that. What the hell are you sorry for?” Noah glared at him. “You’re not responsible for my crappy life.”

“I just…” Kurt shook his head, feeling helpless. “I care about you. I wish…”

“You _wish_ I already had my shit together.”

“No!” He squeezed his eyes shut. “God. Maybe.”

“Yeah.” Noah gave his arm a pull, and Kurt was abruptly thrust against him, almost in his lap. He shuddered as Noah put his other arm around him, holding him close. “That’s honest, anyway.”

Being right there, in Noah’s space, with the scent of Noah around him, defused all the tension he’d been feeling. Kurt leaned his head into the warmth of Noah’s neck, and heard him sigh.

“I wish I could make it easier.”

“God, babe.” Noah brushed his lips against Kurt’s cheek. “You do. You really, really do. Don't you know that?”

“Maybe.” Before his guilty feelings could override his judgment, he turned his head so his lips touched Noah’s. With a groan, Noah opened his mouth and let Kurt deepen the kiss for just a moment, then leaned back to let them both breathe. Kurt let out a shaky laugh. “Maybe… not making it so much easier at the moment.”

“Yeah, you know just how hot you are.” Noah moved his hand to rest on Kurt’s chest, over his heart, then lower. The muscles of Kurt’s stomach tightened, his breath coming faster.

“We’re not doing this, Noah,” he whispered.

Noah chuckled. His fingers tugged Kurt’s belt loose. “If you say so.”

“I mean—you’re not allowed. Your therapist…” He took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. “He said you can’t.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got a long history of breaking rules.” Noah slid his fingers between the buttons of Kurt’s shirt, touching his skin. “You want me to stop?”

“That’s a complicated question. Oh—“ He couldn’t hold back the whine as Noah’s hand descended below Kurt’s waistband.

“I think it’s a pretty simple question.” Noah leaned forward, tucking his fingers into Kurt’s briefs. He could feel Noah’s labored breath on his cheek, just in front of his ear. “Kind of like, _will you let me suck you off?”_

“Oh my god,” he hissed. His hips bucked into Noah’s hand. “How can I—you can’t do that _here.”_

“I can totally do that here, if the answer to the first question is _no_ and the answer to the second is _yes.”_

Kurt put a shaky hand on top of Noah’s, through the fabric of his pants. Noah paused where he was. “Right now?”

“Yeah. Right now.”

Kurt sought his gaze and held it. “Why?”

Noah tilted his head. “Because you’ve been so freaked out about doing this one thing, and if you wait until you’ve got it under your control, you’re never going to let yourself enjoy it.”

He took a long breath, and then another. His dick pulsed in Noah’s hand, and Noah squeezed it.

“And what if I say no?”

“No to the first question or the second?”

“No to—to anything. No, you can’t get me off right now.” He shifted back on the seat and extracted Noah’s hand from his pants. They stared at each other in the light of the street lamp for several seconds.

Noah blew out a breath. “Then… I guess you don’t get off.”

“And?” Kurt said warily.

“And what?” He slumped back. “And I feel a little stupid, and that’s it?”

“Oh.” Kurt closed his eyes again and shook his head. “That’s… okay. Now I feel a little stupid, too.”

“Well, I figure if you’re this turned on and you still say no, there’s probably a reason.”

“I—I don’t want you to get in trouble with your therapist.” Kurt carefully rebuckled his pants. “And I’d really rather not be pressured into doing… that, until I’m sure I’m ready. And, honestly, I’m _so_ done with having sex in the car.”

“Dude, that’s three reasons.”

He combed his hair with his fingers and carefully avoided watching Noah adjusting himself. “I’m not going to say _I’m sorry_ any more. Maybe you’re just going to call Santana or somebody else now.”

“I could.” Noah shrugged. “Maybe I would have done that last year? But honestly, I think I’m just going to do what I’ve been doing for the last couple months and lock myself in the bathroom with a bottle of lube and that big silicone dong.”

Kurt bit his lip. “I guess I deserved to hear that.”

“I don’t know, Kurt,” Noah slid the key into the ignition and turned it. “You taught me a long time ago how not to be an asshole. And sometimes I still do it anyway. But, really, you don’t ever deserve anything other than to get what you want.”

He took a long breath. “What I _want_ and what I think is best don’t always go together.”

Noah’s smile was faint, but it was genuine. “Yeah. I’ve always admired you for thinking like that.”

He opened the driver’s side car door and climbed out, holding the door for Kurt before climbing back in. It was hard to keep his hands to himself, but Kurt managed not to reach for him or offer any more confusing messages. He made his way back to the house, and when he turned around, Noah and his truck were gone.

It would have been easy to decide that he was too annoyed or depressed to do any of the things that Noah had mentioned and just go to bed horny, but Noah’s closing statement tipped the judgment in favor of handling it otherwise. Sharing a basement bedroom with Finn had given him plenty of opportunities to get good at being stealthy in the bathroom. Tonight, he relied on Finn already being fast asleep instead of running the fan or the shower to mask any sounds. As for inspiration, he didn’t need anything more than the image of Noah in his own bathroom, engaging with his impressively large sex toy, to get himself off spectacularly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn’t already crystal clear, Michael is essentially a taller, redheaded, smarter Jesse St. James, and Chris is essentially a blonde Sebastian, both with entirely different backstories. If that helps, you can exchange them in your head. -amy

Kurt was awakened early in the morning by the sounds of Finn getting dressed.

“Hey,” Finn whispered, tying his sneakers. “I’m sorry I woke you up. Michael and I are going running.”

“Running.” Kurt carefully rubbed his eyes, blinking at Finn wearing gym shorts. “Do you do that now?”

“Kind of?” He gave a half-shrug. “It’s a way to hang out with him without having to talk. Also without ending up accidentally making out.”

“Okay, I can see how that would be useful.”

“Yeah. It’s just…” Finn leaned his elbows on his bare knees and sighed. “I’m sure there are reasons I said no to him back in junior year, but sometimes it’s hard to remember what they were.”

“You don’t have to justify your decisions to me, Finn. Whatever you and Michael end up doing, or not doing, I give you my blessing.”

Finn’s face brightened. “Yeah? You don’t hate him so much anymore, huh?”

“Not even a little,” Kurt promised. “He’s redeemed himself many times over.”

“Yeah. Well, I think if he wants me to do that George in the Parking Lot musical with him this summer, he’s going to have to decide between that and being closeted. I just don’t think I have enough self-control to pretend when I’m watching him sing on stage, you know?”

Kurt smiled. “You might be right about that. It’s a fair ultimatum for you to make.”

He was reading the _Sunday in the Park with George_ audition flyer at the kitchen table when his dad came downstairs for breakfast.

“Hey,” said his dad, looking surprised. “What are you doing up so early? I thought you guys got back late last night.”

“We did.” Kurt passed him the carafe of coffee. “Finn woke me up when he went running with Michael.”

His dad nodded, pouring a cup. “Can’t say I’m upset about that development.”

“I think they’re still just friends?”

His dad raised an eyebrow. “Meaning the exercising-in-the-morning thing. Michael’s a good influence on him.”

Kurt made a noncommittal _hmm_ noise. His dad’s other eyebrow went up.

“You don’t think so?”

“I think,” Kurt said slowly, “that it’s hard not to be affected by people.”

“What exactly are you—“

“Nothing, dad. Never mind. Have a good day.”

He headed for the door, and he had his phone out before he even got to the Navigator.

 _Are you awake?_ he texted Chris.

He didn’t receive a reply for a long time, until he was nearly at his destination. _Kind of._

_I need a reality check before I do something stupid._

When the phone rang, Kurt slowed the Navigator and pulled over to the curb.

 _“Before nine-thirty on a Saturday, Kurt?”_ Chris protested through a yawn.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said. “I would have called Rachel, but she’s already at summer camp, and nobody else has enough perspective about Noah to help me decide this.”

_“I take it last night didn’t go the way you wanted?”_

“It wasn’t about what I wanted, it was about what I thought was best. And if I knew what that was, this wouldn’t be so hard.”

Chris let out a dramatic sigh. _“So what’s the situation?”_

Kurt watched a blue sedan and a black SUV pass, grateful for his tinted windows. “In a nutshell, that guy Puck’s been seeing in Dayton? He’s a therapist.”

 _“Ohhhh,”_ Chris groaned. Kurt had to grin. _“That explains a million things. Under duress?”_

“Surprisingly not. He told Puck he should be celibate while he’s figuring things out. Figuring himself out, I suppose, or maybe figuring out what he wants from life? I don’t know, I’ve never been to therapy. But he—“

_“Wait a minute, you’ve_ **_never_ ** _been to therapy?”_

“No. My dad’s kind of anti-therapy. But Puck said he’s in support of us talking about our relationship goals. That is, after I break up with Blaine.”

_“Which you didn’t do.”_

“No. I wanted to. And I—I tried. But…”

_“Kurt. It’s not too late. Rip the band-aid off. Break up with him for real. You want to. Why don’t you do it?”_

“Because…” He swallowed. “The thing is, there’s school Puck, and there’s theater Puck, and then there’s _my_ Noah. They don’t seem to overlap much.”

_“So?”_

“So what if Blaine was right? What if what Puck’s offering me is nothing but an act? He’s still trying to figure out who he is, Chris. At school, with his dad, in life. What if who he wants to be isn’t who he ends up being?”

 _“What does that have to do with Blaine?”_ Chris asked scornfully.

“Well, Blaine’s already worked through all of that. He knows who he is, as a gay man, as a performer, as a person. And no, I _don’t_ want to be with Blaine, but… I do care about him. His friendship means a lot to me. I should be sure about Puck before… before I throw him away.” He could hear his own voice getting smaller and smaller. “Right?”

_“Uh,_ **_no._ ** _That’s bullshit, Kurt. You’re just scared. No relationship comes with a guarantee. You know that.”_

He let his breath out slowly. “… Yeah.”

_“Okay. So was that the something stupid, or is there something else?”_

“No, that was after prom. This, um. This is about this summer.” Kurt twisted his fingers miserably in his lap. “About our relationship. Puck and I have been talking around this for months, and mostly I’ve been under the assumption that yes, things might be complicated between us, but we think we can make it work at Usdan anyway. And he _said_ he thought we could be together this summer, and now—“

_“Now he said you can’t be.”_

“Well, no, that’s not exactly true. Until last night he said we couldn’t, but then he propositioned me? And when I pointed out his therapist’s constraint, he said he’s not good at following rules. I’m the one who had to tell him to stop—which, he _did,_ don’t get me wrong, and he wasn’t mad or anything—and I don’t honestly know if I can continue to stop him, not when he’s going to be… doing his thing on the stage, right in front of me.”

Chris sounded thoughtful. _“Yeah, I can relate to that reaction to him on stage. We’ve got a long history of not saying no to one another.”_

“Yes, he told me about that. So… I’m feeling a little stuck. I don’t think I can back out of coming to Usdan, not at this late date, and my dad’s already paid the balance…”

_“Girl, you are not even allowed to talk about backing out. So, what, you don’t want to lead him on? Into temptation?”_

Kurt laughed, rubbing his forehead. “Uh, no, I _do._ I really, really do. But I think I need to do it honestly. So… right now, I’m down the block from Blaine’s house, in Columbus.”

 _“You are not!”_ accused Chris.

“I actually am. I called you wondering if I was making the right decision, and you gave me the answer I was looking for. So now I’m parked here, trying to decide what to say so he won’t talk me out of it again. Can you help me with my lines?”

Chris let out a cackle. _“And this whole time I thought I was going to have to scold you for being a selfish asshole. You are a righteous honorable man, Kurt Hummel. Okay, let me hear your breakup speech.”_

Kurt fixed his attention on the fire hydrant two driveways away and straightened his shoulders. “Blaine, the last time we talked, you convinced me to give our relationship another chance. I realize I made a mistake in saying yes. I care about you deeply, but you and I will never be more than friends. No matter what happens between me and Puck, I want you to believe me when I say I’m certain about you and I. You and me. Is that right? Yes. You and me.” He cracked his neck. “How was that?”

_“Super. Lean on the gentle sympathy. You feel sorry for him. Be distant, like you need to be somewhere else. Oh, and pat his hand if you can. No hugs.”_

“Sounds like you might have done this a few times before.”

 _“Maybe six or seven thousand,”_ Chris said dryly. _“Okay, tiger, go get ‘im.”_

Kurt started the car and continued creeping forward down Blaine’s street. “Can I call you back afterward?”

_“Honey, you’d better. Make it swift and deadly, like a jellyfish sting, then get out of there. I’ll go make myself some coffee while I wait.”_

Parking at Blaine’s house was enough to give Kurt heart palpitations. His mother’s Porsche was parked in the triple-wide driveway of their Tudor style mansion. Kurt picked up the Saturday newspaper as he walked up the meandering path that led to their front porch. As he rang the doorbell, he held his breath.

The woman who answered the door did not appear to be Blaine’s mother. She smiled inquisitively at him. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I’m looking for Blaine Anderson? I’m Kurt Hummel, a friend from school. Is he home?”

“I’m sorry,” she said kindly, “but Blaine has gone away for the summer. Can I leave him a message?”

“Oh,” said Kurt, feeling his heart sink. He glanced behind her into the house, but he could barely see anything beyond the elaborate foyer. “Is he singing at Six Flags in Aurora again this summer?”

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “You can leave a message and I’ll give it to him when he calls home.”

“That’s okay. I’ll call his cell phone.” He took an uncertain step backward. “You see, the thing is—“

“Have a good day,” she said, and shut the door in his face. Kurt was left standing there alone, holding the rolled-up newspaper. With an awkward motion, he dropped it on the welcome mat and retreated down the front walk to his car.

“Blaine,” he said to Blaine’s voice mail, “I know we said we wouldn’t call one another, but please call me. I really, really need to talk with you before I go to New York. I came to your house and your—I just need you to call me. Please.”

Chris was livid on Kurt’s behalf, but he didn’t seem surprised.

 _“He took the power right out of your hands,”_ he cooed. _“I think I’ll have to try that move sometime, if I ever find a boy to hold onto.”_

“So what am I going to do now?” Kurt moaned. He kept his eyes on the road, but hefelt like pulling over and crying. “What if he doesn’t call back?”

_“He probably won’t. Right? He said he wasn’t going to.”_

“Yeah.” Kurt rubbed his nose miserably. “Crap.”

“ _I think you’re going to have to have a little chat with Puck. In the meantime, you can feel smug and self-satisfied about doing the right thing?”_

“I don’t feel any of those things. And I haven’t done _anything_ yet.”

 _“You did, though,”_ Chris said. _“Way to go.”_

Kurt wasn’t sure how to tell Chris that he just felt more scared, that part of him wanted to call Blaine back right away and tell him how much he missed him. The whole way back to Lima, he thought about the three Pucks, and how it seemed impossible to know which one might turn out to be the real one, and how ashamed he was to even _care_ about that when Noah was struggling so hard to put his life together.

Finally, when he had decided he was done sniffling and grumbling, he called Noah. It wasn’t something he did often enough to expect an answer, but as he was rehearsing what he would say in his head, Noah picked up the phone.

 _“Hey,”_ he said.

“I know I said I wasn’t going to say I’m sorry again,” Kurt said, “but I think maybe I need to. Last night—“

_“Don’t.”_

Kurt paused, listening to Noah’s shallow breathing. “Is everything okay?”

 _“Nothing’s fucking okay. I have to…”_ He swore, and Kurt could hear the tears beneath the anger. _“I need to get out of here.”_

“Come over,” said Kurt immediately. “My dad’s at work, and Carole won’t mind. We can kick Finn out. I’ll be home by the time you get there.”

 _“Yeah. Okay.”_ He paused, then muttered, _“Thanks, Kurt.”_

He felt the anxiety and confusion inside himself bloom into something that took his breath away. “Whatever you need,” he said, and he meant it. _I would give him… anything. Anything at all._

The rest of the drive home pushed the limits of safe and responsible driving, but Kurt managed to make it home without getting a ticket and without wrecking the Navigator. Finn was watching TV upstairs with Carole when he walked in.

“Something happened with Puck,” he said. When they looked at him in alarm, he added, “He’s just upset and could use some privacy. Could we…?”

“I had to go to the grocery store anyway,” Carole said, rising to her feet. “Finn, you want to help me with that?”

“Uh—yeah, sure.” Finn gave Kurt a questioning look, but Kurt just shrugged, and he didn’t ask anything else.

On their way out the door, Carole put a hand on Kurt’s arm. “Call me when you’re ready for company,” she said. “We can find something to keep ourselves busy.”

“Thanks,” he said gratefully. Thinking about how lucky he was to have a stepmother who was willing to clear the house for him to talk with his volatile ex-boyfriend was enough to get him crying again.

He waited in the family room at the front window until Noah’s truck appeared on the corner of Oakland and Glenwood. Noah emerged from the truck moments later. His face was hidden by the hood of his sweatshirt, but when he arrived at Kurt’s front door, Kurt could see his red-rimmed eyes and stormy expression.

“We’re alone,” Kurt said, holding the door open for him, “and you can—we can…” He stopped talking as Noah pushed past him. “What happened?”

“Nothing that wasn’t my own fucking fault,” Noah growled. He paced back and forth from the kitchen to the far end of the family room. “I swear, if I was going to punch anybody in the face, it should be me.”

“Not really the easiest target.” Kurt waited until he’d made two more loops, then he stepped in front of Noah and reached for his hands. Noah let out a loud sigh, avoiding his eyes, but he gripped Kurt’s hands hard and didn’t let go. “I’m guessing, whatever it is, there’s nothing I can do?”

Noah shook his head, staring at the floor.

“Will you tell me anyway?”

“My, uh. My parole officer.” Kurt watched Noah fighting with ugly tears. “She won’t let me go to New York this summer.”

Kurt felt it like a blow, harder than any Noah could have given him. “What?”

“Yeah. Says it violates the terms of my agreement. I have to stay within the jurisdiction of the court.” Noah spoke the words in someone else’s voice, with someone else’s diction. Kurt could almost hear Deborah Martin speaking them. He pulled his hand away from Kurt’s to wipe his eyes with one sleeve.

As much as he wanted to throw a fit, to yell and cry and whine about how unfair the whole situation was, Kurt still had Noah’s words in his head: _You’re not responsible for my crappy life._ He took a deep breath and let it out. “Would you rather I stay home, too?”

Noah’s eyes widened in outrage. “Fuck, no!”

“It wouldn’t be so bad. We could do the show at the Encore with Finn and Michael.”

But Noah was shaking his head vigorously. “Kurt, it can’t be about having a fun summer for you. You _have_ to audition for the shows at Usdan. Without that experience, you don’t have enough for any professional director to even look seriously at your audition sheet.”

He placed a hand on Noah’s chest. “Okay. I promise, I’ll audition. I’ll do my best. Even if you can’t be there with me.” He swallowed his disappointment and tried to smile. “We’ve spent summers away from one another before. We know how to do that.”

Noah covered Kurt’s hand with his own and held it there, searching his face. Then he sighed, letting his shoulders drop and his eyes fall closed. “Fuck. I just wanted… I wanted to be there when you auditioned. To see you there, on stage.”

Kurt took Noah in his arms, feeling him shake with frustration and anger. There was nothing stopping him from kissing Noah now, but he remembered a time last year when Noah had come to him, when he’d been in an equally vulnerable position. Noah hadn’t taken advantage of him then, and Kurt wasn’t going to take advantage of him now. He just held on tight, letting Noah cry. When it seemed appropriate, he dug into his pocket and gave Noah his handkerchief.

“You’re really sure about this?” Kurt asked. “Did your mom—“

Noah shook his head, holding up a tired hand as he wiped his nose. “She’s not going to contest it. Says it’s for my own good, that I need to learn consequences, that kind of shit. Fuck her, she didn’t have to do juvie when _she_ was a teenager.”

“What about your dad? Could he talk to Ms. Martin?”

“You really think she’s going to listen to my dad? He’s already on thin ice with the department of youth services after falling off the wagon last year.” Noah leaned against the back of the couch with a sigh. “This is the way it’s going to be, Kurt.”

Kurt rested an arm around his shoulder. “Well… this won’t be our last time to do a show together. I promise.”

It was scant comfort, but Noah seemed to appreciate it anyway. He nodded.

“Can I invite you to come downstairs with me? Just to watch a show on the big screen,” Kurt added. “Not to… do anything else. You can pick whatever you want from the DVD cupboard.”

Noah even smiled. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good. You got the Kevin Kline version of _Cyrano?”_

“I was going to suggest _Henry V,_ but _Cyrano_ is just as good.” He took Noah’s hand. “Maybe _Twelve Angry Men_ after that.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you bought copies of all of them.”

When they were well into act three, in which Christian made his attempt to woo Roxane with his inadequate words, Kurt sent Carole a text. _The two of you can come home any time. Noah and I are comfort-watching plays in the basement._

 _Can you give me any more details now?_ Carole asked.

_Puck’s parole officer won’t let him go to New York next week._

_Oh no. Even though she let him go this spring, with Glee Club?_

Kurt paused. He hadn’t thought of that. Maybe it was because there had been supervision? Honestly, it hadn’t been very _good_ supervision, but he didn’t tell Carole that. _I don’t know why this would be different, but I think it is._

_That doesn’t sound right, Kurt. What’s his parole officer’s name?_

While Noah was distracted, reciting yet another of Cyrano’s monologues under his breath, Kurt typed Deborah Martin’s name into his phone and found her number.

 _Anything you can do would be welcome,_ he told Carole.

_I’ll make some calls, but I can’t promise anything._

They made it to the end of _Cyrano_ and had started on _Henry_ when Finn came downstairs, giving them a sympathetic nod.

“Hey, Puck, my mom wants to know if you want to stay for dinner?”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

“You can watch with us?” Kurt offered, but Finn shook his head.

“I’m heading to Michael’s. He wants me to sing some songs with him from that musical.”

Noah snorted. “Yeah, you can bet he knows how that’s going to go.”

“Well, yeah, I think that’s the point. We’re trying to see if we can pull off this being-on-the-stage-together thing without getting too distracted.” He smiled. “Wish me luck.”

“Break a leg,” Kurt corrected him. He watched Finn retreat up the stairs, then let out a sigh.

“Looks like _that’s_ not going anywhere,” said Noah, still watching the screen.

“Finn’s still thinking about it.”

Noah’s smile was thin. “Yeah, but you know what Michael’s going to say to him, right?” He broke into a snippet of song:

_“I chose and my world was shaken, so what?  
_ _The choice may have been mistaken, the choosing was not.  
_ _You have to move on.”_

Kurt laughed in surprise, shaking his head. “You don’t even like Sondheim. How do you know that show?”

“My dad played George in Dayton when I was a kid. I spent a lot of time listening to rehearsals from the back of the auditorium.” He rested his chin on his knee. “And I do like Sondheim. It’s Lapine’s music I don’t like. Everything he writes sounds the same.”

“That’s not so bad if you like that one song.”

“Maybe. I’ve always been a fan of variety… the spice of life and all that.”

Kurt smothered his giggles until Noah wrinkled his brow and looked at him more closely.

“What is it?”

“You don’t want to know.”

_“What?”_

“No, it’s terrible,” he said, laughing harder.

Noah paused the DVD on the King of France calling for the Montjoy and turned to him.

“Just tell me,” Noah urged. “Come on, I’ve had a crappy day. Give me this.”

“My mom had a thing for the poet Ogden Nash. In one of his poems about marriage, he said, ‘I believe a little incompatibility is the spice of life, particularly if he has income and she is pattable.’”

Noah stared at him, his eyebrows raised. “Dude. That _is_ terrible.”

Kurt only laughed harder. “I know—you should hear the rest of the poem. It’s _worse.”_

“Yeah?” Noah gestured. “Well? Go ahead.”

“Oh, well,” Kurt’s laughter died away, and he waved his hand vaguely. “I don’t have the whole thing memorized or anything. My memory’s not like yours. It’s upstairs on the bookshelf.”

Noah’s smile broadened. “Kurt, are you _embarrassed?”_

“Not embarrassed that I don’t know it,” he assured Noah. “Although maybe a little embarrassed about my mother’s taste in poetry. Ogden Nash wrote a lot of real groaners.”

“Yeah, I thought you got your thing about puns from your dad, but now I might have to rethink that. No, I meant embarrassed about reciting poetry. You don’t want to?”

The idea did make him feel a little uneasy. “Well, I’ve done that for you before, right? And I’ve read you a million pages of fiction. But I think if I were going to recite, it’d be the kind of thing I’d want to prepare to do. And I would want to pick the right poem.”

Noah was still smiling. “This, babe. _This_ is the thing you need to work on. Not preparing a poem or a scene, but doing it spontaneously. Improvisational performance.”

He blushed, ducking his head. “Okay, that sounds terrifying.”

“Come on, how is it different from reading something to me from a book or script?”

“Because I don’t have to know what I’m going to say when I’m reading,” Kurt said, feeling agitated. “I just have to read it. If I’m making it up, it might come out terrible. Also, the author gives me eight million clues about _how_ I should read it, right in the text. The interpretation isn’t a guess; I just know. That’s way safer.”

“So you have to do it right or it’s not worth doing?”

“Now that just makes me sound stodgy and set in my ways. Come on, look at me.” Kurt included his whole outfit, from head to toe. “I’m an innovator. You know I take risks every day.”

“But not in theater. You’ve never jumped in knowing you would probably fail.” Noah gestured to himself. “See, that’s me. That’s my whole life. I’ve got to assume half of the things I do are going to fall flat, and just be ready for that all the time.”

Kurt shivered. “Yuck. I think I’ll stick to the calculated approach.”

“Except with sex,” Noah added. “Spontaneous sex is almost always awesome.”

Kurt didn’t really want to get lost in thinking about the many past examples of how successful Noah’s sexual spontaneity was. “What about when people turn you down?”

He chuckled. “People don’t turn me down.”

He felt his cheeks flush. “I know for a fact that is _not_ true. I turned you down last night, remember?”

“You—“ Noah gave his knee a little nudge. “—have always been an exception.”

“Mmm.” Kurt smiled reluctantly. “And _you_ seem to be feeling a lot better at the moment.”

“Oh, I’m still pissed at everybody,” Noah assured him. “Being with you just makes it a lot easier to deal.”

“That’s a relief to hear. I’d hate to think I was making things harder for you.”

Noah’s grin came even before Kurt realized what he’d said. “Trust me, you always make things _harder._ Not that I mind.”

He let his eyes wander across the floor. “So… about that.”

“If you’re gonna chastise me about not being a good boy, I’m gonna turn the movie back on.”

“No, I wasn’t sure if I should tell you about this, given the situation with your parole officer, but…” He took a deep breath. “I guess I should. Assuming you want to hear it.”

“I’m listening,” Noah protested. “You can tell me whatever you want.”

“Puck and Kurt,” called his dad. “Would you both come upstairs?”

Kurt shifted out from under Noah’s hand on his knee and called back, “On our way.” In a quieter voice, he added, “We are not done with this conversation.”

They could smell dinner cooking in the kitchen, but Carole was sitting at the table with Kurt’s dad, her laptop propped open. She was concluding a polite conversation on the phone.

“Thank you for checking,” she said before setting it down on the table. She gave Noah a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry this happened, Puck. As though you don’t already have enough stumbling blocks.”

He shrugged, tossing his head. “Hey, I’m a flight risk, right? A danger to myself and others. My request for travel was denied. I’m not permitted to go out of bounds.”

“Well, that’s the strange thing, right? Why would you be denied now if you weren’t denied earlier?”

“Because the system is stupid? Because there are multiple people stamping requests and maybe today that person decided, _this Puckerman kid, he looks like trouble, he’d better stay home this summer._ ”

His dad snorted. “They clearly weren’t thinking that through very well.”

Carole reached out and touched Noah’s arm. “Anyway, if they really did deny it for no good reason, and you’ve been allowed to travel before with no trouble, I think there’s a good chance you could have one of your parents call to petition the court again. The time limit still hasn’t elapsed, but it’s soon.”

“My Ma said she wouldn’t do that,” said Noah, but he was already looking less certain about it than he had before.

“Your dad would,” Kurt said. “I know he would. And he’s been following the conditions of his rehab, right? You’ve all been going to therapy.”

Even as Carole’s expression softened into a smile, Noah winced. He glared at Kurt, who glared fixedly back.

“That’s wonderful, Puck,” Carole said.

“Yeah,” he said flatly. Then he sighed and nodded, his gaze aimed at the table. “Thanks. My dad’s doing okay.”

“Well, what about your therapist, then? Do you think she would agree you’re okay to travel?”

“He,” Kurt said absently. He was watching Noah’s face. It betrayed a fascinating mixture of disgust, resignation, and—pride? “He would. Wouldn’t he?”

“I could drive you guys down to Dayton tomorrow,” said his dad. Noah blinked in obvious surprise, and his dad added, a little gruffly, “If you wanted.”

“We can drive ourselves, dad,” Kurt said, but he felt a ripple of pleasure at the unexpected offer. “It’s Sunday. You have catch-up day at work. It’s not that far.”

“Yeah.” His dad rested a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “After Dalton, I guess you’re used to that drive to Columbus. I mean, you just drove there this morning.”

Noah’s gaze swiveled sharply up toward Kurt, edging into something like outrage, but Carole interrupted before he could say anything. “If your father can intervene, I think that’s going to be your best bet, Puck. And please, let us know if we can speak to anyone on your behalf. I know we’re not anything official to you, but…”

Her voice trailed off into an awkward silence. Kurt swallowed the sudden lump that appeared in his throat. Noah just nodded.

“Thanks,” he said again. His voice was remarkably steady. “I’ll give it a shot.”

“Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.” Carole pushed her chair out from the table. They all took it as their cue to rise. “Why don’t you guys finish watching your movie?”

They returned to the basement in silence. Kurt glanced over at Noah as they took their places once more on the couch. Noah fiddled with the remote, staring at the screen, where the blank blue screen bespoke a pause in the action.

“So you were in Columbus this morning?”

Kurt nodded. “I, um. I drove down to talk to Blaine. To break up with him, for real.”

Noah’s startled eyes shot back up to connect with his. “You—?”

“He wasn’t there,” Kurt added quickly. “Or, at least, whoever answered the door wouldn’t let me see him. And he wouldn’t take my call.”

Noah’s excitement subsided somewhat, but he didn’t look away from Kurt. “And now you want to drive down with me to Dayton tomorrow? For what?”

“We won’t know until we try.” Kurt reached out a hand, resting it palm-up on Noah’s leg, and after a moment, Noah took it. He shook his head, his face troubled.

“You really want to do that?” This time his tone was more subdued. He sounded legitimately perplexed. Kurt pinched his lips together, trying not to snap at him.

“This isn’t going to be easy. I don’t want you to have to do it alone.”

“Even if you and I…?”

“If we what?”

When he moved in a little closer beside him, Noah didn’t try to move away.

“We’re not together, Kurt,” Noah said softly. He sounded so despondent. “And that’s not because of what Blaine said or didn’t say; it’s because of me. I know it’s my fucking fault, and… I don’t want to make it harder for you by tricking you into thinking I’ve got my shit together. I can’t be your boyfriend, not here, not… the way things are.”

“Noah.” Kurt watched him shrink a little more as he spoke his name. “This isn’t about me being your boyfriend. I’d do this for anybody I cared about. Finn, Mercedes, anybody.” He squeezed Noah’s hand. “Really.”

Noah’s grip around his fingers tightened suddenly, hard enough to make him gasp, and he moved in closer, close enough that it would have felt like an imposition if it had been anybody else. Noah’s breath was hot and unsteady against his neck.

“You’re not just anybody to me, Kurt,” he said, low and accusing. “You never were. The more you pretend things are okay the way they are, the worse I feel, because I _know_ you. I know what you deserve.”

Kurt allowed him a moment to indulge in the feeling of Noah’s bitter words against his skin before pushing him back. He waited until he was certain he had Noah’s full attention.

“I wanted to break up with Blaine for _me,”_ said Kurt. He used all the tricks Noah had ever taught him about clear diction and pacing to get his point across. “But I’d be lying if it also wasn’t so that you and I could move ahead with a clear conscience. The person you are, right now, that’s who I want. If your therapist says that’s okay—that’s an _if—_ then this summer, in New York, it’s okay with me. Maybe some days you won’t be able to give me anything, and that’s okay too.”

Noah was already shaking his head. “It’s _not_ okay. There’s no way I can give you all the things you need.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “What makes you think I need you to?”

“Just—let me say this.” Kurt waited where he was while Noah sat there, gathering his thoughts. He didn’t let go of Kurt’s hand. Finally he took a deep breath. “I’m not… like Michael, okay? I don’t have any questions about who I am or what I want. I’m just trying how to have that and deal with how the world wants to treat me for wanting it. Right? For being—who I am.” He cleared his throat. “Being your boyfriend.”

“Being gay,” Kurt prompted.

“Yeah.” Noah squirmed a little and moved on quickly. “But here’s the thing, Kurt. Things at Usdan, they’re not like the real world. Anybody who’d give me shit for doing anything with you would have Chris and a dozen other guys to contend with before I’d even know it was happening.”

Kurt considered this. “You’re saying it’s… protected? A pretend world. Playing house.”

“No more pretend than summer theater at the Encore was, except turned up to eleven. I’m saying…” Noah paused to weigh his words. “I’m saying, if there’s any place in the world where I could come close to giving you what you need, I think Usdan would be it.”

Kurt nodded, watching his luminous eyes. “And you want to do that?”

Noah let out a breath. “Fuck, yeah.”

“Then we’ll go to Dayton tomorrow and ask for that.”

They sat for so long after that without saying anything that when Carole called from upstairs, they both jumped. “Dinner’s ready, boys. Can you put things on pause?”

 _They have been,_ Kurt thought, as Noah let go of his hand. _They have been for a while now. The real question is, are we ready to begin again?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurt's mom's terrible quote is from ["On Marriage" by Ogden Nash](http://www.aenet.org/poems/ognash2.htm).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noah’s therapist Greg Peters is played in this series (really only in this chapter) [by Robert Sheehan](https://nubianamy.tumblr.com/post/622759819879890944/i-chose-the-actor-robert-sheehan-as-the).
> 
> Felix Abrams, who is mentioned but does not appear until a later chapter, is played in this series [by Avraham Aviv Alush](https://nubianamy.tumblr.com/post/622759876542775296/i-chose-avraham-aviv-alush-as-the-representation).

The morning was foggy, and Kurt had to put all his energy into watching the road. Noah seemed content, oddly enough, to look at the dog-eared paperback he’d brought with him. It wasn’t a book Kurt recognized from the cover. He tried not to wonder what it was, but it was futile.

“You could read to me,” he suggested.

Noah made a face. “Whatever. I mostly have this memorized anyway. I just wanted to have it for you.”

“For what?”

“For Usdan. It’s the script for _Earnest,_ with all Bryce’s staging notes from when my dad did it with him a million years ago.” He slapped the script against the dashboard. “Watching the movie’ll only take you so far. They left a lot of stuff out.”

“I remember some things from the production we saw in New York.” He wondered for a moment if Noah had been hoping to try out for Lady Bracknell, the part improbably performed by Brian Bedford. But when he met them in Central Park, Bryce had explicitly told Noah to audition for Algernon. Kurt held his breath as a Buick passed him a little too close on the left, and nudged the cruise control a hair faster.

“Yeah, but one watch doesn’t tell you much,” Noah said scornfully. “Not if you don’t have the script in front of you. We’ll watch the London production tomorrow. You’re going to want to audition for Algernon. It’s totally the gayest possible character. But you’re going to be fighting Chris for it, because he’s—” Noah paused.

“He’s even more gay than me,” Kurt supplied, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Not exactly,” hedged Noah. “I mean, you’ve met him, he is in his own way, but I just meant he’s a senior next year, and he’s going to be gunning for the leads even harder than me. Than I would have.”

“You might not be out of the running yet.” Kurt tried to keep his voice light.

“Well, he’s definitely gayer than me, and Bryce still said he wanted me to audition for Algernon, so… I’m not sure what to think about that.” Noah sounded perplexed.

He accelerated around the creeping van in front of him. “Maybe he was trying to tell you to move out of your comfort zone.”

Noah let out a snort. “Bryce doesn’t have a fucking comfort zone. He does his best to throw you off, every day. But he does get results.”

“I wouldn’t begrudge him his successes, then.”

He listened with half an ear as Noah walked him through the minor characters in _Earnest,_ and the boys at Usdan who might end up playing each of them. He didn’t include himself in the hypothetical casting.

“Did Bryce ever direct a musical?” Kurt asked, when Noah paused for breath.

“Not with me. But he performed in plenty of them, a long time ago. Before my time.” Noah tapped the glass. “This is it. Take the next exit.”

Kurt frowned at the unfamiliar ramp. “Where are we going?”

“My dad’s.”

The script had apparently been forgotten. Noah sat staring out the window, his hand folded under his chin, a perfect portrait of a brooding adolescent. Kurt, lost in watching him at the traffic light, jumped as the driver behind him honked his horn. Nettled, he resumed driving, and searched for something to say that wouldn’t sound fake.

“Thank you for letting me come along.”

Now Noah glanced at him in surprise. “I wouldn’t tell you not to. I mean… I wanted you to come.”

Kurt didn’t get into how it hadn’t sounded like it yesterday, when Noah had been trying to do everything in his power to convince Kurt he shouldn’t. Instead he gave him a brave smile. “Are we close now?”

He followed Noah’s directions, winding through the outskirts of the north Dayton suburbs, into a quiet, shaded neighborhood. The homes were bigger than they were in Kurt’s part of Lima, but shabbier, too. When they pulled into Aaron Puckerman’s driveway, Kurt could tell it had been a long time since anyone had mowed the lawn.

“Should we be bringing groceries?” Kurt said doubtfully.

Noah shot him an angry look. “You can’t be everybody’s white knight, Kurt.”

He tried not to feel hurt by the comment as they climbed out of the Navigator and made their way up the cracked front walk to the porch. Noah knocked on the door, then stuffed his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans.

Mr. Puckerman looked more than pleased to see them when he opened the door. He gave Kurt a big smile.

“Go right into the kitchen,” he said in his laborious speech. “There are chicken wings on the counter.”

Kurt was a little embarrassed by how surprised he was to discover both that the house was fairly tidy, and that Mr. Puckerman appeared to have broiled the chicken wings himself. Noah set the _Earnest_ script on the counter and helped himself to a plate from the cupboard, clearly familiar with the layout of his dad’s kitchen.

“Can I get you something to drink, Kurt?” Mr. Puckerman asked, opening the fridge.

“Just water, thank you,” he said.

“Taking care of your voice. That’s good. In a few days, you’ll be heading to New York, right?”

“Well, that’s what we’re here to talk about, actually.” Kurt looked meaningfully at Noah, who was licking his fingers. Noah glared back at him, but there was no vitriol behind it. He turned to his father.

“There’s a snag,” he said. “My parole officer said I can’t travel that far, that it violates the terms of my deal.”

“Even though he already _went_ to New York in the spring,” Kurt pointed out, watching the outraged expression blossom on Mr. Puckerman’s face. It was remarkable to note how much more he looked like Noah when he was angry.

“That’s bullshit.” Mr. Puckerman held up a hand. “Don’t tell me: your mother thinks you had it coming.”

Noah shrugged, staring at his plate. “She’s not making any phone calls, if that’s what you mean.”

“Well, whatever she says, it’s not true. Okay? This is on me. I’m the reason you went into goddamn juvie in the first place.” He came close to Noah, his breathing heavy and erratic. When he put his hand on Noah’s shoulder, Kurt watched Noah cringe. Whether it was from his father’s misshapen words or the weight of him against his back, Kurt wasn’t certain. “Your parole officer. Deborah, right? You got her phone number?”

“We were thinking it might help to have your therapist’s support as well,” Kurt hastened to add. “To give the recommendation extra weight.”

Noah didn’t even look up, but Mr. Puckerman gave the suggestion due consideration. After a moment, he nodded.

“I can call him,” he said. “Give me a moment.”

Kurt stayed where he was as Mr. Puckerman disappeared down the hallway, watching Noah coat himself in a shell of shame. He let out a long sigh.

“Would you rather I wait in the car?”

“No,” Noah muttered. He uncurled, slouching across the kitchen, and busied himself in the refrigerator. It was like watching a mirror of his father. Kurt tried not to smile.

“I really like your dad,” he added.

Noah straightened before regarding the comment with obvious contempt.

“You have no idea how fucked up he is,” he announced. “He always was.”

Kurt raised his chin, not looking away. “Well, in that case, I’ll have to take him as he is now.”

The panic flitted across Noah’s face and disappeared. “Then you’re just a sucker. He’s got you fooled.”

“Maybe I only take people as they are,” Kurt said evenly, his arms crossed, “and not as they’re remembered to be.”

He stood there, watching Noah manage his breathing, trying to give him time to regain control.

 _It’s not about you,_ he reminded himself. _He doesn’t need coddling. He needs you to let him be._

They were still in that tableau when Mr. Puckerman returned. Kurt took a seat at the kitchen counter, while Noah remained where he was.

“Paul’s calling your parole officer on your behalf,” Mr. Puckerman said. “I’ll make a follow up call to her in a few minutes. I hope it’ll help.”

“I hope so, too,” said Kurt, smiling.

Mr. Puckerman looked pleased again, his lopsided smile making an appearance before it disappeared again. Kurt sighed to himself as Noah rotated more obviously away from both of them. Now his back was to his father.

“Um… Noah tells me you did _Earnest_ once, yourself?”

Mr. Puckerman picked up the script from the counter, smiling nostalgically. “I played Jack Worthing. Did you really get to see Brian Bedford perform Lady Bracknell last spring?”

Feeling wholly inadequate under the witness of Noah’s incredible memory, Kurt duly recounted the details of the performance of _Earnest_ they’d seen in New York. Mr. Puckerman listened, making occasional comments. By the end, Noah was still where he’d arranged himself, but he was clearly listening, too.

“I didn’t really care for that show before I did it, to be honest,” said Mr. Puckerman. He set his juice glass down on the counter. “I think I thought it was too frivolous. And, don’t get me wrong, it is. But there’s more to it than that.”

“Like what?” asked Kurt.

“Well,” he said, glancing at the back of Noah’s head, “most directors agree that much of the subtext of the play deals with the experience of closeted gay men, as Wilde was himself.”

Kurt laughed. “Not very convincingly closeted, I hear tell.”

“Well, I think there’s a limit to the polite fiction created by privileged gentlemen who live a double life.” Mr. Puckerman’s grin was full of familiar mischief, and Kurt couldn’t help but giggle. Noah visibly bristled at the sound. “The name _Ernest_ was a slang term for homosexual in the 19th century, for one thing. And _Cecily,_ the name of Jack’s ward, was slang for a male prostitute. And, well, the all those cucumber sandwiches Algernon ate…” He coughed.

“And what about _bunburying?”_ Kurt asked, leaning in inquisitively.

“Dude,” Noah muttered. Kurt smiled airily.

Mr. Puckerman simply shrugged. “Probably just what it sounds like. Certainly, not all directors play up the angle that Algernon and Jack were secretly involved with men, but once I learned more about the history, it seemed an obvious choice. My director supported my interpretation of Jack’s character, and not just because of my own orientation.”

Noah turned his head sharply. He eyed his father. “ _Your_ —?”

“Sure,” said Mr. Puckerman placidly. “And, regardless of the content, you have to agree Wilde’s language is exquisite. Critic W.H. Auden called it, ‘the only pure verbal opera in English.’”

Kurt wondered how long he should enjoy Noah’s speechlessness before intervening, but eventually, Mr. Puckerman did it for him. He smiled at his son.

“Whatever else you judge me for, Noah, I think you can’t be ashamed of me for that.”

Noah shook his head in heartbreaking confusion. “But you’re not. I mean—you’ve never—”

Mr. Puckerman just waited, cocking his head to one side in patient regard as Noah sputtered and finally fell silent. Kurt could see something of every one of Mr. Puckerman’s former roles coming out in the way he anticipated his cue.

“That’s really very closed-minded of you, Noah. I must say I’m somewhat disappointed you never figured it out. Guessed, at least. You were around me and Felix for most of your youth, after all.”

“What Noah means,” Kurt interrupted, as Noah appeared to be building enough steam for a second round, “is he’s surprised, but _not at all_ judgmental. And of course he would never question someone else’s declaration of their own orientation, no matter who it was.”

“Of course.” Mr. Puckerman gave him a gracious, if shaky, tip of an imaginary hat.

 _“Felix.”_ The word came out as a whisper, Noah’s eyes round as coasters.

Mr. Puckerman crossed his arms and let out a rueful laugh. “You think I drove an hour each way to Dayton every day because the opera house paid well? Come on. Your mother put up with him for years. When she finally left me, I couldn’t blame her for having had enough.”

“Thank you, Mr. Puckerman, for your help,” said Kurt, dragging Noah to his feet and herding him toward the door. At last, however, Noah stopped him, facing his dad.

“The two of you,” he demanded. “You were together? All that time?”

Mr. Puckerman nodded. “Until ’07.”

“And _that’s_ why mom left you?”

“You’d have to ask her,” Mr. Puckerman replied, shrugging, “but I think it was mostly because of my heroin addiction.” He added, quietly, “If it helps, Felix left me because of that, too.”

Kurt could tell Noah was working hard to disguise his response to this, but he could also tell his defenses were crumbling fast.

“Thank you,” Kurt said again, making sure Mr. Puckerman saw his face. Mr. Puckerman waved them both toward the door without another word.

“Come on,” Kurt said, as soon as they’d closed the door behind them. He tugged on Noah’s arm, leading him past the Navigator.

“What?” Noah’s protest was more an explosion of anger than a question.

“We’re taking a walk. I don’t think you should get back into the car like this.”

Noah didn’t disagree, but he didn’t walk beside Kurt, either. He trailed a few steps behind, letting out periodic growls and mutters. Once, he kicked either a sign or a curb; either way, it seemed to leave him with both a little more pain and a little more calm.

 _“Now_ are you ready to have a civil conversation?” Kurt called back, not pausing his stride.

“Jesus fuck, Kurt,” he moaned. “What do you even want me to say? The guy I admired most throughout my childhood turned out to be my dad’s ex-boyfriend? And even _that_ relationship wasn’t good enough to keep him from using drugs again?”

“I don’t think you need to say anything. It sounds like your dad’s been punished enough by his own actions without you being a horse’s ass about it.”

“Come on, this isn’t about my dad being—whatever he is.”

Kurt blew a loud raspberry. “You’re more in denial than the Sudan.” He finally turned around, stopping suddenly enough that Noah had to stumble to a halt to avoid running into him. “You can’t even say it, can you?”

Noah’s eyes were wide and roaming. “Look, I don’t give a shit who my dad wants to bone.”

“Maybe not.” He moved in closer, placing his hand on Noah’s chest, and felt the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat through his t-shirt. “And what about you? Does it matter who you want to… bone?”

“You know it does.” There was no one on the street of Mr. Puckerman’s neighborhood, but Noah had dropped his voice anyway. “It matters.”

Kurt shook his head in wonder. “Your mom, the way she’s been reacting about you being gay. What if it wasn’t about you at all? What if, all this time, it was about her feeling hurt by your dad being in love with somebody else?”

“I don’t see how that makes any difference.” But Noah looked shaken, as much by Kurt’s proximity as by everything he’d just learned. He took an unsteady breath. “Fuck. My dad and _Felix?”_

Kurt considered what he remembered of the tall, dark-haired actor they’d seen perform Malvolio in Twelfth Night and Henry Higgins in Pygmalion. “I thought you liked him?”

“No, I do! I mean—he’s great. I just never thought of him… like that.” He wrinkled his brow. “I’m pretty sure he has a girlfriend.”

“You’ve had girlfriends, Noah,” Kurt said. He realized he was stroking Noah’s chest, and couldn’t bring himself to stop. “Why couldn’t he be bisexual?”

“No reason. It’s…” His eyes closed and he sighed. “God. I can’t stop thinking about when my dad walked in on me and Dylan, the intern at the opera house. He was so pissed off at Dylan for taking advantage of me, but… I always figured at least part of it was that he was pissed off at _me,_ too, for doing it. For wanting it.”

“Maybe he was. Maybe he was scared for you, because he knew firsthand how hard being gay in Ohio could be.” Kurt gave up trying to maintain his distance and wrapped his arms around Noah. Noah didn’t even attempt to stop him. He leaned into Kurt, shivering with reaction. “The fact that he didn’t make a greater attempt to tell you, is that what you’re mad about?”

“Maybe.” Noah’s voice was muffled against his neck. Kurt heard him sniff. “Maybe I just wish my dad had left my mom for Felix a long time ago.”

“Except he didn’t. He stayed, for you, and for Sarah.” He ran his hand over Noah’s shaven scalp, and felt him relax a little more. “And Felix was still with him until 2007. Didn’t you tell me your dad had his stroke in 2003? Felix stayed with your dad for five more years. Five _years,_ Noah.”

Noah let out a little sob, and Kurt squeezed him tighter.

“I remember…” He sniffed. “When we were doing Sound of Music, and my dad had been cast as Von Trapp, and then he—and afterward, when my dad couldn’t do it anymore, Felix didn’t take over the role, even though he was the obvious choice. They had another actor do it. I always wondered why.”

“Maybe… do you think he might have been taking care of your dad during his recovery?”

Noah was clinging to him now, crying in earnest. Kurt was grateful for the relative privacy of the vacant suburban neighborhood in the middle of the morning, but mostly he was overwhelmed by the sensation of feeling Noah’s body in his arms. After weeks and months of keeping their distance from one another, there was no way his own body wasn’t going to respond. When Noah adjusted his stance and shifted closer, Kurt let out a quiet _uh._ He laughed self-consciously.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Completely inappropriate timing.”

“Yeah.” Noah tipped his hips into Kurt’s, eliciting another noise. “You, too?”

“Me too. And…” He took a reluctant step back, looking into Noah’s flushed face. “Don’t you have to talk to your therapist before we go back to Lima?”

“Probably. Yeah. I do.” Noah took a deep breath, wiping his eyes with the palm of his hand. “Okay. Can we get in the car now?”

They didn’t hold hands as they walked, but Noah stayed beside Kurt, and neither of them tried to move too far apart.

“Do you really think he thought you knew already?” Kurt asked.

“Honestly? My dad’s pretty good at mind games, but unless he’s high, he’s not usually trying to make me feel guilty. I think he was actually surprised.”

“He did want to help.”

Noah stared at the ground. “I know.”

Kurt bit his lip. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

“I really want to let you.”

That was as far as it went, but as they got into the Navigator, and all the way across town, the energy in the air between them remained electric. Kurt watched Noah’s hand slide up several times to adjust himself in his baggy jeans, and every time, Noah’s hand lingered a little longer than was necessary. Every time, Kurt felt a sympathetic rhythmic pulse.

 _You can get yourself off, right here,_ he thought about suggesting more than once. _I wouldn’t mind._ But he knew that would be no more ethical than suggesting they get each other off, and singularly less satisfying.

“I’m kind of impressed at this new rule-following you,” said Kurt, as he put the Navigator into park outside a long bank of office buildings.

“Thanks,” Noah said glumly. He slumped back into the seat and let out a long sigh. “I wish I could know for sure it’s actually going to do any good.”

“What, exactly, are you hoping to get out of it?”

“My therapist—Greg—says I can’t have the rights and privileges of a member of a social group without first identifying with that group and demonstrating loyalty to it.” Noah’s imitative voice was subtle, but Kurt knew that was _exactly_ what his therapist had said to him.

Kurt let out a laugh. “You mean, he wants you to call yourself gay, and then…?”

“He wants me to _want_ to,” Noah said grimly. “I know, you’ve been telling me the same thing. You’re right; he’s right; and I have no fucking clue how to do that. If I had a magic wand, I would have turned myself straight by now.”

“Oh.” It shouldn’t have been a surprise to hear, but it felt like a slap in the face. Kurt directed his gaze at the steering wheel, where his hands were still clenched at ten and two.

“Except for you, Kurt.” Now Noah’s voice was softer, more gentle. “I would rather put up with this shit than lose you.”

Kurt swallowed before turning toward Noah. He reached out a hand and squeezed Noah’s in his.

“You won’t lose me,” he said. “Remember? I’ll be there. Even if you…” He shook his head. “No matter what.”

He could tell Noah wanted to respond to that, but eventually, he just nodded in defeat.

They climbed out of the Navigator, moving at a ponderous speed. The energy they’d felt on the drive had vanished. Noah led him up the step to one of the entrances to the office building and pressed the doorbell next to the sign marked _Peters, LLC._ When the door buzzed, he held it open for Kurt.

“He knows all about you,” Noah said. “You don’t have to pretend to be anybody else.”

Kurt let out a derisive sniff. “Like I would ever do that again.”

The woman at the front desk had a nose ring and short blue hair. “Hey, Puck,” she said, smiling as she handed him a clipboard. He signed it and handed it back to her. “Greg’s almost done with his eleven o’clock. You want anything to drink?”

This last was directed at Kurt, who felt a little uneasy to be addressed without an introduction. “I’m, um. I’m fine. Thanks.”

He didn’t try to make it less awkward by making small talk, but he was relieved to see Noah moving toward the door in the corner and beckoning him to go with him.

“You’re sure it’s okay I’m here?”

“Well, I don’t think he has any right to kick you out, so I’d say fuck him if he tries. But he won’t. Greg’s okay.”

Greg was, to Kurt’s surprise, younger than Mr. Schue, with a friendly smile and short curly brown hair. After his initial effort to welcome Kurt, he largely ignored him. This was fine with Kurt. He sat in rapt silence on the couch, listening to Noah complain about his parole officer, as Greg took notes and made occasional comments.

“But, Puck, you didn’t need to come here at all,” Greg pointed out. “Your dad called me, and I called Ms. Martin, and that’s pretty much all we can do right now. Unless that’s _not_ what you wanted to talk about?”

Noah hesitated, looking at Kurt, then surprised him by going on. “Well, there was one other thing. Something we talked about, and you said… uh, you said what you thought I should do. What you thought I _shouldn’t_ do.”

Greg didn’t look perturbed by Noah’s meandering. He just waited.

Noah cleared his throat. “That… I should stay single, until I figure out, you know. More about what’s going on with me.”

“You’ve done that for several months now. Do you think it’s helping you get some clarity?”

“Yeah,” Noah said reluctantly. “Not that it doesn’t suck. And me and Kurt, we’ve been talking about our relationship goals, like you said. And he kind of broke up with his boyfriend.”

Greg grinned at Kurt. “I’m assuming that’s _kind of_ a good thing?”

“It would be better if he would answer my phone call,” said Kurt. “Or show up when I go to his house. But yes, it’s good. It’s what I want. Even if Puck isn’t exactly ready to be out at school.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“About him not being out at school?” Kurt tried to avoid glancing at Noah, mostly because he didn’t want him to be embarrassed, but also because he didn’t really want to see Noah’s reaction to the question. “I’m not thrilled about it. It’s the reason we didn’t start dating two years ago. And then he started throwing me into dumpsters.”

“Yeah, I told him about that,” Noah muttered.

“But we got past it,” Kurt went on. “And he’s proved himself to be on my side many times over since then. My dad and stepmom love him.”

_“Kurt…”_

“He asked,” Kurt retorted, as Greg chuckled.

“You’re clearly devoted to one another.” Greg made a note on his pad of paper, then looked back up at Kurt with obvious curiosity. “What changed for you, Kurt?”

“For me?”

“You came out at school, years ago. But according to Puck, you started out closeted. At least, he said he didn’t know you were gay when you met. What was it that helped you decide it was okay to tell your truth, to your friends, your school, your family?”

Kurt shook his head, smiling to himself. “I think he might have been the only person who didn’t already know I was gay. But—okay, it was a couple of things. First of all, my neighbor Andrea. She and I grew up together, and she was a hundred percent supportive of me. She’s gay, too. And partly, it was watching Puck go back to school sophomore year and go right back from being brilliant fairy Puck to—” He paused, glancing at Noah.

“To idiot closeted Puck,” Noah murmured. He wasn’t hunched over himself, ashamed, or anything like it. He was simply looking back at Kurt, with obvious sorrow and regret. “Yeah. That… was when the dumpstering happened.”

“And it was because of _football,”_ said Kurt. “You were so concerned about your status. I decided I didn’t want to be that dependent on any one person to keep my secret, as useless a secret as I now know it was. I mean, my dad said he knew since I was three.”

“But you didn’t _just_ come out.” Noah shook his head, a little grin making its way out the corner of his mouth. “You joined the fucking football team. That was _really_ terrifying. I mean, god, Kurt, you were already intimidating enough with your voice and your talent and your brains, and you had to bring that stereo onto the field and kick field goals to Beyoncé?”

Kurt couldn’t stop the giggles from escaping. “You’re the one who convinced me to do it! I never thought I would get onto the team. And we weren’t even getting along at that point.”

“Didn’t matter.” It was a real smile now. “I’m Proteus to your Valentine. Remember?”

Kurt shook his head, marveling. “That memory of yours. I remember looking up _The Gentlemen of Verona_ the first time you said that to me. I still don’t know exactly what you meant by it.”

“People in Shakespeare’s day had this messed up idea that friendship between two dudes was more powerful than love between a man and a woman.”Noah’s eyes flashed. “Maybe because lots of those dudes were boning each other. But yeah, they thought that was true, because dudes _choose_ their friends, but marriages were arranged, for money or politics or whatever. That was kind of the way we were, you and me. We weren’t friends because our parents knew each other or we went to the same synagogue or even because we had all that much in common. We chose each other, just… because.”

“Despite,” Kurt corrected. “And it’s true we don’t have much in common. Even your therapist doesn’t think we should be dating.”

“Well, hold on, now,” said Greg. They both turned to look at him. Kurt had almost forgotten he was even there. “I didn’t say that.”

Kurt frowned. “You just said you advised him to remain single?”

“I said he should make a choice to focus on himself until he was sure he had what he needed to come out and feel safe about it.” Greg indicated Kurt. “Seems like you might have it, Puck. At least for the summer.”

Kurt caught his breath as Noah’s eyes widened. It wasn’t clear if it was out of excitement or fear.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for working on yourself,” Greg added. He scribbled something on a page from his notebook and handed it to Noah. “Some books that might help, if you’re willing to read them.”

“Uh…” Noah was staring at the paper. “Maybe?”

“Good enough for now. I hope things work out with your parole officer. Either way, we’ll see each other at your regular monthly appointment with your dad, after summer camp?”

They were both moving slowly as they walked through the reception area and back outside. The sun made Kurt squint. He kept his eyes on Noah as he leaned against the Navigator.

“You’re not really going to read those books.”

“I could.” Noah shot him a look, but when Kurt glanced pointedly at the paper, Noah just tucked it into his pocket.

“You didn’t tell him about your dad.”

“You don’t think he already knows? I mean, they have their own sessions. I have no idea what they talk about.” Noah scowled at the ground. “Can we go home now?”

It was a straight shot up I-75. The traffic was light compared to how it had been that morning, but getting Noah to say anything was like pulling teeth.

He nudged Noah’s knee with his knuckles. “That went a lot better than I expected.”

“Whatever.”

“You do realize Greg gave us permission to be together this summer?”

“Assuming we’re even going to be in the same city.”

Kurt didn’t bother to bring up the entire year of phone sex they’d enjoyed in the past. It hadn’t been what either of them had really wanted, anyway. “And what do you think about that?”

He let out a frustrated breath. “Why are you trying to get me to talk about something that might not even happen?”

“Gosh, I don’t know, Noah.” Kurt shot him a look. “Do you even _want_ that?”

“I don’t know!” he shouted.

Whatever Kurt had been about to say next died in his throat. He tried to swallow. “You don’t?”

“I don’t know.” This time his words were less angry, but no less confused. “I don’t know if… if I can do it.”

Kurt felt a sudden surge of anger. “Weren’t you trying to talk _me_ into this?”

“I know. I’m saying, can we just wait?”

“Until what, exactly?” He wanted to hit something. “Until you check if you have any better offers?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Noah growled. “Trust me, I’ve got plenty of those.”

It hurt more than it should have. Kurt gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Don’t do me any favors. I’m not stopping you from having all the sex you want.”

“Fuck it, why not? It’s what I’m best at, right? I’m sure as hell not smart enough for you.” Noah’s voice got steadily more scornful and poisonous the longer he spoke. “I don’t have nearly enough class for you. I don’t know shit about anything that’s not lines in a show. Getting you off, that’s what I’m good for. I might as well stick with that.”

Kurt had to fight not to shrink back in his seat. They drove the rest of the way home without saying anything at all.

When Kurt pulled up next to Noah’s truck, however, he had to ask.

“Does this mean you’re not coming in?”

Noah stared at the floor. “I think that would be a bad idea, yeah.”

“Tonight’s your mom’s long shift.” Kurt chewed on his lip. “Do you have anything for dinner? What about Sarah?”

“You don’t have to _fix_ everything, okay?” Noah snapped, suddenly furious again. “You don’t always get to _save_ me.”

He replied as evenly as he could under the onslaught and his own pounding heart. “I was never trying to save you.”

“Maybe not.” Noah paused in the open doorway of the passenger seat to fix him with his baleful glare. “But you never thought I was capable of saving myself, either.”

Kurt sat there for a while after Noah drove away, blinking angry tears away and wondering how the hell they’d gotten _here,_ but eventually he had to give up trying to figure it out and went into his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gay code in _The Importance of Being Earnest_ is explained [in this article](https://www.baltimoresun.com/entertainment/bs-fe-everyman-earnest-20181207-story.html).


	5. Chapter 5

There was no sign of either Carole or his dad when Kurt went inside, but that wasn’t surprising, considering it was barely past noon. It _was_ surprising to find Finn sitting on his bed, flipping through a photocopied packet of paper with a look of concentration on his face. It relaxed into a hopeful smile when he saw Kurt.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

“Well…” Kurt sank down onto the edge of his bed. “Good, I think? Except for the part where he’s currently pissed off at me for trying to help.”

Finn nodded in sympathy. “Sounds familiar.” 

“I don’t know what I did wrong, though.”

“Nothing. Seriously, when Puck gets mad, it’s not about anybody else. His life is just full of stuff to be mad about, and sometimes, everything pisses him off.” He nudged Kurt’s knee. “You want to help me practice these lines? Or, better yet, explain _Sunday in the Park with George_ for me? My audition’s in three hours and I’m still confused about the plot.”

Kurt fed Finn lines until Finn was pretty sure he could deliver them well enough, even if he still didn’t understand the story.

“It’s about an Impressionist artist,” Kurt pointed out. “Maybe it’s meant to be an Impressionist musical?”

“Beats me.” Finn shrugged, still mystified, but he didn’t look all that upset about it. “So you think Puck’s got a chance at being at his camp with you this summer?”

“I don’t think I have any idea of knowing for sure, but both his dad and his therapist seemed pretty positive.” Kurt wondered for a moment if he could get away with outing Noah’s dad to Finn, but in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “His therapist, Greg, told him it was okay for us to date over the summer and see how it goes. Except now I think Puck’s decided it’s _not_ okay after all?” He sighed, resting his head in his hand. “I don’t even know what I’m doing. Since when am I dependent on _one thing_ to make me happy? Maybe he’s right; maybe we shouldn’t bother, if it’s going to be like this.”

“Like what, exactly?” Finn gave him a lopsided grin. “Hard doesn’t mean bad. Didn’t Puck say that in the car when we were driving back from _La Boheme?_ ”

“It’s not even that it’s so bad. It’s that it’s so all-consuming. I don’t _like_ being a one-note wonder. I want to care about more than just getting Puck to… to go out with me.”

“Yeah, but that matters too, right? Or else you wouldn’t be bothering trying to make it work.” Finn’s grin grew into a shy smile. “Um, I guess both of us are trying to make it work now.”

Kurt smiled back. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. After our audition, Michael’s taking me out to dinner. Like, on a date, where anybody could see us.” He put one enormous hand over his blushing face. “I’m trying not to make it a big deal, but… yeah.”

“It _is_ a big deal,” Kurt insisted. “He’s doing this for you, because he wants you to know you matter enough to push him out of his comfort zone.”

“Yeah, but I kind of think I should have a backup plan for when he freaks out and ditches me at Breadstix.”

“I suppose that wouldn’t hurt.” Kurt’s eyes strayed to his phone before he yanked them back to Finn. “Seriously, I really don’t want to be doing this waiting-around-for-him-to-call routine. It’s just pissing me off.”

“We could play video games?” Finn shrugged. “That’s mostly what I do when I need a distraction.”

Kurt was pretty sure there was nothing that could ever drive him to play video games, but he considered Finn’s advice as he watched him get dressed for the audition.

“I think I stopped calling my friends when I started worrying about how Puck was doing,” he admitted, when Finn paused to show him two ties. “Wear the brown one.”

“You sure?” Finn held it up to his shirt, then looped it around his collar. “Why’d you do that? Not because you thought he would care if you were spending time with Mercedes or Tina?”

“No, he wouldn’t care. I don’t think he’d even notice.” He waited until Finn made a good attempt, then stepped in to straighten his tie for him. “I just didn’t want to waste any moment he was willing to spend with me. Which, in retrospect, sounds pretty pathetic.”

“Only because you could be doing a million other things,” Finn said. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to spend time with somebody you’re into. But, okay, maybe a little pathetic if he’s also being a jerk to you.”

More than anything else, that was what drove Kurt to action. After Finn left for his audition, Kurt dug through the drawers of his desk until he found the notebook containing his own writing from sophomore year. He leafed past the the threadbare beginnings of several different plays he’d begun at Mr. Tracy’s suggestion, to the page onto which he’d copied Noah’s conceptual notes from his summer notebook. They weren’t fully formed by any means, but they were a hell of a lot better than his own ideas. Kurt read over several of them before he settled on one and began to write.

When his phone chimed, he only looked up long enough to notice it was Carole.

 _I finally got a straight answer about why Puck wasn’t being allowed to travel,_ she said. _Home soon._

It was a pleasant zone to be in, one that allowed his ideas to flow but that suspended his need to worry about any of his current troubles. His mind was entirely subsumed by the shape of the dialogue between the characters. When he heard the door slam upstairs, he paused, blinking, at a clock that read 4:11.

“Kurt?” he heard Carole call. “Anybody home?”

He abandoned the notebook on his bed and took the stairs two at a time to meet Carole in the foyer. She smiled at his sudden appearance.

“I’m guessing you and Puck had good luck today?”

Kurt leaned against the wall while Carole toed off her shoes. “Not entirely, but… maybe you did?”

“Nothing definitive. I managed to get some answers from a different parole officer; Deborah Martin still hasn’t returned my call.” She looked thoughtful as she set her purse down on the bench. “Puck seems to have been denied his request for travel because he went out of bounds already—which I’m interpreting to mean he didn’t ask for permission to go to New York the first time, when he went with Glee club to Nationals. I tried to explain the situation and asked to have it looked at, but it appears this gets to be Officer Martin’s judgment call.”

Kurt felt flicker of fear. “You mean the kind of thing that’s out of their control, because it’s a personal decision.”

“Something like that,” Carole agreed. “But don’t lose hope yet. I told the other parole officer about Puck going to therapy, and he said that would help his case. Did he convince his therapist to call on his behalf?”

“He did, and his dad called, too.”

“That’s good news. And he’s not required to go to therapy every week this summer, not if he gets permission to be out of town.” She let out a sigh. “As long as his father continues to pay the $20 every month while he’s under court supervision, and he checks in regularly when he’s there, he should be allowed to go to New York. But we won’t know for sure until Ms. Martin signs off on it, and that might take a few days.”

“A few days is all he has,” Kurt protested. “He has to figure this out before Saturday, or else he won’t be able to go.”

Carole rested a hand on Kurt’s shoulder. “I know you want to fix this for him, honey. I do, too. Sometimes we just have to be patient.”

It was similar enough to what Noah had said earlier to him to give him pause. “Do you think I’m trying to fix _him?”_

“I think you see all his best parts, and you wish others could see them, too,” she said. “But those are the parts he chooses to share with you, not the ones he wants the whole world to see. You have to be okay with that.”

He made a face. “Well, he’s not sharing _any_ parts with me at the moment.”

“More things to be patient for. Or you could invite him over for cake in a few hours.” She indicated the kitchen. “It’ll either be Finn’s congratulatory or hey-you-tried cake, depending on how the audition comes out.”

Kurt thought about what Finn told him earlier about what he and Michael were doing after the audition. “Actually, I don’t know if Finn’s coming home any time soon. Michael took him out on a date.”

Carole looked a little startled, but she just nodded. “In that case, he can eat it later. You can help me make it anyway?”

Kurt went through the motions of combining the ingredients and stirring them together to make cake batter. Carole seemed to be okay that his heart wasn’t really in it. It did make him feel better to be up and moving around, even if his thoughts were still on the script he’d been writing.

While the cake was in the oven, he texted Chris. _Have you started packing yet?_

_Girl, I started last week! Woe betide the unlucky youngster who gets me as a roommate. I’m a total slob._

Kurt hadn’t thought about the idea of having a roommate. He supposed it couldn’t be that different from having Finn sleeping in the bed next to him, and he’d gotten used to that eventually.

_I’m still not sure if Noah’s going or not._

_But you’re going, right? Even if he has to stay home?_

_I think so. I mean, I think he talked me into doing it, no matter what._

_You want to?_

_Of course I want to,_ Kurt typed, feeling indignant. _This isn’t about Noah, it’s about me. I’m doing it for me._

 _Well, good,_ said Chris. _Usdan would have been way less queer without you, and believe me, the way Bryce is doing these two shows, we’re going to queer it up. You ready for that?_

Kurt grinned at his phone. _As ready as I’ll ever be._

He didn’t tell Chris what he’d said to Noah. It was a little sobering to admit, even to himself. _I volunteered to stay home with him this summer. I’ve already demonstrated I would be willing to give up things I want to make him happy. Does that make me a pushover or a good friend? Am I just sacrificing my own needs for his?_ He really wasn’t sure how to tell the difference.

They left the cake to cool while they ate dinner, then he and Carole and his dad played a couple rounds of Yahtzee. As Kurt was getting ready to go to bed, there was still no sign of Finn. He wondered if he should text him to make sure he had his exit strategy in place, but he decided against it. Finn had already proved himself to be an adequate, if reluctant, escape artist when it came to Michael.

He sat cross-legged on his bed, regarding the silent phone in his hand, for a long time. Finally, with a troubled heart, he sent Noah a text.

_I’m thinking you’re still mad._

_You would be right,_ Noah replied immediately.

_Is it because I tried to insinuate you couldn’t handle this?_

_No. I already know I can’t._

Kurt tried to keep his breathing even. _Because you don’t want to, or because you’re too scared to fail?_

_Trust me, you don’t want to deal with this._

_I really do,_ he insisted. _You know I do._

There was a long pause. Kurt got up, but he couldn’t help taking his phone with him to the kitchen as he got a drink of water.

 _You were the one who was just sitting with me on this couch, yesterday, telling me I should be taking more creative risks,_ Kurt said.

_Life isn’t fucking improv._

_So what is it? Why are you taking out your fears on me?_

_You know why? Because when you called me this morning and you realized I was freaking out, you stopped everything you were doing to take care of me. You didn’t even know what was happening. You said you would stay home if I wanted you to._

He felt a ripple of unease travel up his neck. _So what?_ he replied again.

_So it’s a fucking stupid thing to offer. That’s the last think you should be doing._

_Well, I did it anyway. Sorry for thinking I had a right to put you ahead of me._

_Not if you have any hope to make it in this business._

Kurt had had it with text. He stabbed the Call button and waited until Noah picked up.

“I don’t think I really do,” he said, trying not to grit his teeth or break down into tears. “It’s pretty clear I don’t hold a candle to you or Chris or any of the other actors who’ve made it to Usdan. If _you’re_ wondering if you’re going to make it in theater, why would I even bother?”

 _“Because, first of all, you’ve got a hell of a lot more going for you than I have for me,”_ said Noah. He sounded so reasonable. _“Your grades not only don’t suck, you’re at the top of your class. Your dad isn’t rich but I bet he would mortgage his house to send you to whatever college you chose. You don’t have a juvenile record. Are you starting to get the fucking picture?”_

“What does any of that mean if I can’t make it on stage?” Kurt cried.

_“It means you’ll get a lot of little roles, get passed around doing anything to maintain your equity credit, until some director notices you and makes you his favorite. That could be, like, this summer, if you get lucky.”_

He shook his head, knowing Noah couldn’t see it. “I just don’t understand why you’re trying to be _my_ champion. You were the one pulling strings in New York, even though you hate it.”

 _“If you haven’t noticed, dealing with my dad isn’t nearly as horrible as it used to be.”_ He paused, then added, a little more gently, _“That was all you.”_

“Not really. Not all.” Kurt settled back against his heap of pillows. “And you’ve done your share of resolving things between me and my dad, too. He and Carole really do think you’re great.”

Kurt heard him let out a snort. _“Yeah. That whole thing with ‘not being anything official to you.’ What was that all about?”_

“I think…” He held his breath. “I think it means they see how we are to one another, no matter what kind of relationship we’re having at the moment. No matter what we call it. Yes, I would stay home from Usdan for you, if you needed that. Maybe that means I’m being reckless and thoughtless.”

_“Yeah. And… I love that you did it anyway.”_

Kurt was surprised into a laugh. “You… really?”

_“Really. Check it out, I’m a walking contradiction.”_

He sat with the warm feeling of Noah’s admission in his stomach for several long moments before going on.

“I think, even if I’m not your boyfriend—and I’m not saying I won’t ever be again—we’re something to each other. That means more to me than any amount of sex.”

 _“Okay?”_ Noah said cautiously.

“I’m saying I don’t think we have to make any decisions about how this summer is going to go. We can take it slowly. I can be your friend from home.”

_“Everybody at camp already knows about you, Kurt. You’re not a secret.”_

“No, but you don’t need to push yourself into doing something you’re not ready to do, just because Usdan would be a convenient place to do it. I’m not going anywhere.”

There was a long sigh, Kurt felt the tension in his shoulders ease.

 _“Okay.”_ Noah sounded a little sad, but a lot less angry, too.

He heard the door upstairs open, and the sounds of Finn’s indistinct voice. “Finn’s home from his date,” Kurt said, sliding his feet off the edge of the bed. “I’m going to see how he’s doing. Can we talk tomorrow, or…?”

_“I’ll let you know what I hear.”_

“Okay.”

In the time it took for Kurt to draw another breath and decide what his next words would be, Noah hung up. This time, at least, it didn’t feel like an ultimatum. It was Noah, drawing boundaries as best as he knew how. Kurt couldn’t fault him for that.

Finn’s voice grew more clear as he climbed the stairs, and Kurt thought he could hear Michael’s behind it, but when he reached the kitchen, Finn was alone with Carole. Finn beamed up at him.

“Meet the Boatman in the Seurat painting,” he said, making a little awkward flourish, and accepted Kurt’s congratulatory hug.

“He’s the character everybody hates, right?” Kurt confirmed.

“I think so. They kind of hate George too, though.” Finn shrugged cheerfully. “We both get to be social outcasts. Michael’s George, in case you hadn’t guessed. Oh, and Quinn is playing Dot. She rocked her audition.”

“Finn told us that’s the female lead,” said Carole. She smiled at Finn. “I’m glad she decided to get involved again this summer.”

“This calls for a celebration.” Burt stood up and headed into the kitchen, rubbing his hands, and Finn followed him in with obvious interest. Carole touched Kurt’s arm.

“No news yet from the parole officer. Is Puck speaking to you again?”

“Kind of? He only sort-of hung up on me this time.”

She stifled a grin. “There’s hope yet.”

Carole had frosted the cake to say _We Love You Finn,_ which indeed could have worked as a consolation prize. Kurt’s dad cut thick slices for everyone, depositing them onto plates and passing them around as Finn described the strange plot of _Sunday in the Park With George._

“Michael and I talked to Mrs. Wright about the performance dates,” Finn said. “I know they kind of sucked for you and Puck the last few years, so she’s going to set the performances a week later, after you’re both—I mean, after you get home.”

“Hopefully both,” Kurt said. Now he really _was_ going to cry. “That was really nice of her to do that, just for him. For us.”

“And don’t tell Puck unless he can’t go, but Mrs. Wright was really hoping he would be assistant director this year.”

He let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t know for sure he’d have the patience for that. He’s not exactly a fan of musicals. But I bet he’d do it for Mrs. Wright.”

Kurt didn’t get to ask Finn anything about his date until after they’d finished watching Finn’s chosen movie (Kurt would be just fine if he never had to sit through another _Fast and the Furious_ iteration, but it was Finn’s congratulations party, after all) and were alone downstairs once more.

“Well?” he demanded, and Finn turned pink. “Do I get any details? Start from Breadstix.”

“Nothing’s really changed,” Finn protested, but he was smiling. “He didn’t hold my hand across the table or anything. He did dress up, though, and he paid for dinner.And, um. Afterwards was nice. His station wagon’s still just as big as it was.”

“Magical.” Kurt clasped his hands beneath his chin.

Finn just shook his head. “You’re such a sucker for romance.”

“I do admit it. What’s next?”

“Next we try to pull off being on stage together without outing Michael to everybody in the whole town. I think he might be willing to come out to people in the cast, though, because, uh.” Finn laughed, closing his eyes. “He kissed me in front of Mrs. Wright and like six other people who were waiting for callbacks?”

Kurt stared at him as Finn started laughing. “Oh my god. Really?”

“Trust me, I didn’t ask him to. I don’t think he even meant to, it just… happened.”

“They do call it coming out for a reason.” Kurt patted his back as Finn wiped his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Maybe? I’m kind of freaking out. Not because of the kiss,” he qualified, “but… what if he changes his mind? What if it’s too much and he says fuck this, and then the show is screwed and it’s all my fault?”

“Didn’t you just say you didn’t ask him to?” Kurt leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “This was all Michael.”

“God,” moaned Finn. He covered his face. “I thought I’d gotten over him, but now it’s worse than before.”

“I wouldn’t say that’s a bad thing. You really do have all summer together, and then who knows? Let it be special. It’s not bad, right?”

Finn shook his head emphatically. “Not bad.”

It was about eleven-thirty when Kurt checked his phone again and realized he’d received two phone calls in the past couple of hours. The first was from Mercedes, asking if he wanted to go shopping tomorrow. The other—Kurt swallowed—was from Blaine.

 _“Kurt,”_ said Blaine on his voicemail, sounding disappointed and loving at the same time. Kurt wondered if this was how people’s mothers spoke with them. _“I received word that you came by the house. Part of me wishes I’d been there to talk with you, but I also wish you would respect my boundaries. I asked you not to contact me all summer.”_

“Respect _your_ boundaries?” muttered Kurt. Finn was in the shower and didn’t hear him, but he wondered, as he often did, if Blaine seriously thought he was justified in his statements.

 _“Let’s plan to talk again in August, okay? We’ll see where we are then.”_ His voice went saccharine and soft. _“I am, and I always will be, devoted to you, Kurt. Have a good summer.”_

It was the hardest way to end an already hard day. When Finn came out of the shower, Kurt was sobbing in a tiny, helpless heap on his bed.

“Oh, man,” Finn said, obviously distressed, and sank down beside him, his damp hair dripping on Kurt’s back. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Kurt shook his head, trying to reassure Finn, but it wasn’t happening. He raised himself up to look into his worried face. “I got a voicemail from Blaine. Why can’t he just accept what I told him about wanting to end the relationship?”

Finn sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe he thinks he knows best about what you need?”

Kurt knew that wasn’t anything close to true, but it was a scary enough thought that he started crying again, leaning against Finn’s terrycloth bathrobe-clad shoulder.

“I can’t keep waiting for him to be willing to listen to me.”

“Dude,” Finn said, smiling. “Just because he didn’t _let_ you dump him doesn’t mean you didn’t do it.”

He carefully wiped his eyes using the edge of Finn’s robe. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And if Puck doesn’t believe you mean it, he’s a bigger jerk than I thought he was. And that’s saying something.”

“No, he—he knows. The only thing standing between me and Puck is himself. I just have to be patient.” Kurt sniffed, trying to smile bravely at Finn. “It’s taken us this long, after all. What’s one more summer?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trinity in this series is played by Aja Naomi King, and Anthony Gordon is played by Camaron Engels.
> 
> While Usdan is a real theater camp on Long Island, it’s not a sleepover camp. Usdan in this series is of my own making, a mishmash of all the theater camps I (and my kids) have attended over the years. Also, I will put a big disclaimer about any and all claims regarding the value of conservatory programs versus other methods to break into the business. I’m not a professional actor, I ended up quitting performing to be a scientist many years ago, YMMV, etc. -amy

“There’s a parking spot!” Carole called out, pointing across the dash.

His dad groaned. “How am I supposed to get over there? I can’t go anywhere other than where I am.”

Kurt watched the uneven line of cars, minivans, and SUVs make their way along the wooded drive with trepidation. Finn nudged his arm.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I think it looks a lot more like camp than I thought it would,” said Kurt.

“What do you mean?” His dad gave him an irritated glance. “You’ve been here before. Twice.”

“Well, yes, but… I mean, the amphitheater’s in the front, where the road is, and there’s a sidewalk, and…” He frowned, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

It was impossible, even years later, to forget the theater where he and Andrea had seen Noah perform the role of Puck in _A Midsummer Night’s Dream,_ wearing spangled leotards and a feathered, crested mohawk. He’d been even more impressive in Mamet’s _Glengarry Glen Ross,_ but Kurt would never forget that first production when he’d seen what Noah could really do on stage.

“You’re not that far from the city,” Carole pointed out.

“Yes, but they’re only letting us _go_ to the city on visitation day, and nobody will be visiting me.” Kurt found himself clutching the handle of his messenger bag with more anxious energy than he’d anticipated feeling.

“Maybe Chris would take you with him,” said Finn.

It was strange to hear Chris’ name coming out of Finn’s mouth. Although they’d met very briefly at Usdan, Chris was still mostly a figure in Kurt’s imagination. The fact that he was now also a regular feature in Kurt’s text conversations didn’t seem to matter. Not for the first time, he felt uneasy at the idea that he and Chris would very shortly be in the same physical space together.

 _And what about Noah?_ That was still entirely up in the air. He hadn’t responded to any of Kurt’s texted inquiries since Tuesday. He had wondered if Noah was going to call him on June 22, the occasion of the anniversary of the first day Noah sang Whiter Shade of Pale with him under the stairs at the Encore, but nothing had happened. Kurt knew he could have gone over to Noah’s house and made him talk to him, but that would have been the worst possible choice, and Kurt knew it. Not even Finn had suggested it.

“Burt,” Carole said, grabbing the steering wheel and giving it a shove to the left, “get in, just take the space—there.”

“You can’t just _do_ that,” he protested, although it was clearly untrue. With wounded pride, his dad finished steering the Navigator into a spot on the grass between a blue sedan and a white minivan. He slid it into park with a gigantic sigh. “Jesus. That’s the last time I let you convince me to do a ten-hour drive like that in one shot.”

“We made it, didn’t we?” Carole turned around and smiled at Kurt, who smiled reluctantly back. “Shall we find your cabin?”

It didn’t look exactly like Y camp, Kurt decided, as they unloaded his gear from the trunk. Yes, there were kids wandering around in pairs and small groups, wearing shorts and t-shirts and ball caps, but there was also a large number of them carrying instruments, and even more of them wearing clothing that would have gotten Kurt launched into a dumpster for certain.

Carole led the way along the sidewalk and up a shaded staircase until they came to the building labeled _Laura Keene._ “Is this right?”

“Keene was a famous Broadway star in the 1850s," said Kurt, nodding. “She was performing at the Ford Theatre when John Wilkes Booth shot Abraham Lincoln. All the buildings at Usdan are named for notable figures in New York theater history.”

It was somehow easier to feel okay about climbing the steps to the building when he knew the woman for whom it was named hadn’t exactly had it easy. Kurt imagined anyone’s fame would be somewhat tarnished if the President of the United States happened to be murdered during their comedy sketch.

There was an African-American girl with long braids sitting at the table when they entered. Kurt’s dad and Carole were redirected to speak with the woman at the desk. The girl looked expectantly at Kurt, flipping through her notebook, but before he could even say anything, her face cleared and she exclaimed, “You’re Kurt Hummel!”

“Um—” He took a step back. “Yes?”

“I saw your audition video,” she explained. “Chris and I were the student advisors reviewing the applications, and you were a shoe-in. I’m Trinity. Does Chris know you’re coming?”

“Yes?” he said, but that was all he got out before there was a loud commotion up the hall. Kurt barely had time to brace himself before he was tackled from the side.

“You’re here!” squealed Chris.

“Oh my god.” Kurt watched as Finn dissolved into laughter at the expression on his face.

Chris paused in hugging Kurt to beam at Finn. “You’re his stepbrother, right? The suddenly gay one?”

“Bi,” said Finn, grinning, and offered his hand. “I’m Finn.”

“No, you get a hug, too,” Chris insisted, tugging on Finn’s hand. Finn didn’t object. “You ditched your date after he turned out to be a closeted loser. I am super impressed with you already.”

“Well, uh.” Finn laughed self-consciously. “The truth is, I kind of gave him another chance?”

“Oh yeah?” Chris’s eyebrow quirked, and he glanced back at Kurt, who snorted.

“The closeted loser redeemed himself,” he told Chris.

Chris crossed his arms and nodded proudly, as though he’d arranged the whole thing.

“Redemption stories are timeless,” he announced. “And the truth is rarely pure and never simple. That’s from _Earnest,_ in case you didn’t recognize it. Let’s get you checked in, and then I’m going to give you a tour—the real tour, by the way, which you’d never get from the orientation.”

It was easier to say goodbye to his dad and Carole and Finn after that. Finn looked frankly disappointed to be heading out so soon.

“He’s cute,” he whispered to Kurt.

“You _have_ a boyfriend,” Kurt whispered back, pushing him at the door. “Even if he is a little flaky. Go enjoy your summer together.”

His dad gave him a hug, then looked around them at the interior of the sturdy building. “I wish I knew what to say. I don’t think you need any reminders or advice anymore.” He shrugged. “Break a leg? Is that right?”

Kurt smiled. “Works for me.”

Carole was a little more practical. “We’ll be back at the end for both of Mr. Coleman’s productions, no matter who’s in them. I imagine we’ll hear through Finn what’s going on if you forget to text.”

“I won’t forget,” he promised.

After his family departed, Chris helped him bring all his things upstairs to his second-floor room, chattering in a familiar gossipy way. It was comforting, but when he said, “Have you seen Puck?” Kurt had to stop him.

“We’re not really talking right now. I wasn’t even sure if he was coming.”

Chris’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, not coming?”

“His parole officer said no, remember?”

“I thought you fixed that.”

Chris didn’t appear to be angry, but Kurt still felt rebuked. “He doesn’t want me to fix him. That’s part of the problem.”

“Well, that changes things kind of a lot.” He unlocked the door to Kurt’s room, looking pensive. “If no Puckerman will appear on the stage this summer, it opens up some doors for the rest of us.”

The room was a little cozier and a little more rustic than Kurt had expected. He placed his suitcase and garment bag carefully on top of one of the mattresses. The second bed appeared to be unclaimed, but Chris pointed to the sticky note on the door. _Morgan, A._ “He’s from Ohio, too. Columbus, I think.”

“Oh.” Kurt chewed his lip. “Do I get to meet him first, before deciding if—I mean, what if we don’t get along?”

Chris smiled. “You don’t have anything to worry about. On a scale of straight to gay, this place tips seriously in the direction of the rainbow. Half of the kids will come out by the end of the summer.”

Kurt locked the door behind them and followed Chris back downstairs, trying not to stare. It had been a year since they’d seen one another, and that had been only momentarily, before they’d even been friends. It was hard not to notice how much of a _man_ Chris had become in those months. What was safe to comment on? “You, uh, got taller.”

“I know!” Chris did a little happy kick. “Five-eleven now. Tall enough to play just about any lead. I’m really hoping for those last two inches, because that’ll mean I’ll be in the running to play bad guys, too. If it doesn’t happen, I’m going to have to start wearing lifts.” He cast Kurt a teasing look. “Or heels.”

Kurt let out a surprised laugh. He shook his head. “I forgot what a flirt you are.”

“Oh, honey, you have no idea.” Chris flung his arms wide. “This place is a hotbed of teenage hormones. Prepare to be flirted with.”

It wasn’t like Kurt didn’t know what Chris was talking about, after three summers at the Encore, but this was the first time he’d had the potential to participate in the flirting in any way that mattered. And then he thought about Noah, and he felt an unpleasant jolt.

 _For a moment, I forgot about him entirely,_ he realized. He glanced around himself uneasily as they crossed the street. What kind of best friend was he, if Noah was going to slip his mind so easily?

“Little theater,” Chris pointed at several buildings in turn, “dance studio, set design workshop. Costuming is in there too. Oh, look, there’s Anthony.” He waved his arm furiously at the boy across the street, who looked vaguely familiar.

The boy approached Kurt with obvious mistrust. He turned to Chris. “I didn’t know _he_ was coming this year.”

“Be nice,” Chris said. His words had a sharp edge. “Kurt’s not the enemy. Puck helped get him in.”

Anthony frowned. “You’re serious? After what he pulled last summer?”

“You can talk _to_ me instead of _about_ me,” Kurt said to Anthony, trying to stay cool. Now he remembered Anthony. He and Chris had been waiting for Kurt when he had come to Noah’s residence hall with Quinn. “You turned me away when I wanted to see Puck before _Glengarry Glen Ross.”_

Anthony scowled. “Because _friends_ don’t out friends.”

He didn’t sound mean, but it was clear he’d already made up his mind about who Kurt was in this scenario. Kurt sighed.

“Look, I’m not trying to say what I did last summer was okay. I’m the last person who’d ever want to put Puck in a position to feel unsafe. I care deeply about him. Can you give me a chance to prove that to you?”

“I guess that’s up to him.” Anthony glanced behind him up the street. “If _he’ll_ give you a chance, then—”

“He’s here?” Kurt interrupted. His stomach did a flip. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure that’s him over there?” Now Anthony sounded perplexed. “Don’t you guys, like, live in the same town or something?”

“Kurt,” Chris said, but without a lot of energy behind it. Even so, Kurt paused. Anthony followed his gaze, then looked back at Chris.

“He does know _you’re_ here, right?”

Kurt nodded, trying to collect his thoughts, and let out a helpless laugh. “I wish I knew how to explain this…”

“Please. You don’t have to. _We_ both know Puck.” Chris raised both eyebrows at Anthony, who was looking entirely nonplussed. “Right? And what a complete douchecanoe he can be when he’s put on the defensive?”

“Uh…” Anthony blinked. “I guess? Yeah.”

“All right, then. So you think you might be able to give Kurt a break?”

“I mean, you’re right,” Kurt said. With some effort, he managed to refrain from hiding behind Chris as Noah moved closer. “Maybe I’m a little less hung up on him being out than I used to be. But he’s making progress. He danced with me at prom last year.”

“Kurt was homecoming queen,” Chris added under his breath.

Anthony stared at him. Then he laughed.

“Color me judgmental,” he said to Kurt, with an apologetic smile. He held out his hand, and, surprised, Kurt shook it.

Chris nodded. “That’s better. You’re loyal, I’ll give you that. Now are we going to stand here and be noticed, or are you going to—never mind.”

Kurt watched Noah approach them with a feeling akin to panic, which didn’t make any sense, unless he remembered how things had been as recently as a year and a half ago. Noah’s scalp was freshly shorn, with no sign of a mohawk, and his tight black t-shirt and jeans made him look like he was ready to audition for _Grease._ He looked Kurt over as though he was scoping him out for the dumpster.

“You made it,” he said.

Kurt refused to lick his dry lips. “You, too.”

“Legally and everything.” Noah held out his hands and smiled lazily, making it perfectly clear to anyone who was watching that he knew he was all that and a bag of chips. He turned to Chris and his smile grew into something more genuine. “I was beginning to think I had this season in the bag.”

“Think again,” Chris said sunnily. “You haven’t even met the new guy. His audition tape blew us away.”

“Mmm.” Noah chuckled, rubbing his chin. “Sounds like I _should_ meet him.”

Kurt felt his face turn red, and he ducked his gaze as Anthony snorted.

“In any case.” Chris turned to smile at Kurt. “We were just giving Kurt a tour. Care to join us, or do you have more important people to do?”

Improbably, Kurt found himself walking beside Anthony. They trailed several steps behind Chris and Noah, who were already talking a mile a minute. Kurt zeroed in on Chris’s arm around Noah’s waist.

“Well, this is awkward,” Kurt murmured, and Anthony smothered a laugh.

“Speaking as an Usdan veteran, I’d walk into most situations assuming you’re going to feel mortified at any moment. Just… pretend you’re on stage all the time.”

Kurt let out a slow breath. “That sounds exhausting.”

“At first. You’ll figure out the pacing eventually.”

He nodded. “I really didn’t mean to out him to anybody.”

“I think I believe you.” Anthony nudged him, gesturing to Noah. “He’s not ignoring you.”

“I don’t care if he is,” Kurt said, tasting the feel of the words. They felt like they might actually be true. “This is his place. He gets to be any way he wants here.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t get to be jealous.”

Kurt opened his mouth to refute Anthony’s statement, but then saw the way Anthony was watching Chris and Noah together, and shut his mouth again.

 _It’s not always about you,_ he chided himself.

“Puck and Chris aren’t together anymore,” he said instead. “For a long time, now. Both of them told me that. I think they’re far too similar to be good together long term.”

Anthony appeared to consider this for a few long moments. At last he conceded, “If you don’t consider exactly how flamingly overblown Chris is.”

“What was that you said about pretending you’re on stage all the time?”

This time Anthony laughed louder. As Kurt smiled, Noah glanced back at them. His expression was hard to read.

“Who’s your roommate?” Noah asked.

There was no clear indication of who he was speaking to, but Anthony answered anyway. “Isaiah. He’s going to be insufferable, especially after getting Gavroche in the Philadelphia production of Les Mis, but at least he has good stories. And he doesn’t snore. Remember Brendon?”

Chris snorted, walking backwards in front of them. “Good lord. I hope he ended up getting a CPAP. I wonder what happened to him?”

“He moved to California last year,” Noah said. “Doing all television now. Fucking sellout.”

They all snickered; it appeared to be an old joke. Then Chris nodded at Kurt. “He’s got the new guy. Asher.”

 _“Asher._ Who even names their kid that?” Noah scoffed. When Kurt glared at him, he rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment further.

“You said he was good?” asked Kurt.

“Com-pet-ti-shun,” Chris said distinctly. He did a little time step on the sidewalk, moving lightly. “He’s a hell of a dancer. Who knows if he can sing, not that it matters here. We know he can act; he won the 2010 Ohio Theatre Roundtable Award for featured role in a play. And he’s got eyelashes for _days._ I might have to break my one-week rule for him.”

“Didn’t Bryce tell you to tone it down?” Anthony said mildly.

Noah and Chris looked at one another, then cracked up at the same time as Anthony sighed. Kurt smiled at him.

“Seems that you’re the long-suffering one?”

“You have no idea.” Anthony rested his head in his hand, as Chris went off into another gale of laughter. “Honestly, I can’t believe they haven’t _both_ been kicked out of here yet.”

“Hey.” Noah looked wounded, but then a moment later, he was laughing again, draping himself over Chris, who was snorting in a very inelegant manner. “I’ll have you know I did my time.”

 _For that and other things,_ Kurt thought, but he stayed quiet. He wasn’t at all sure if he was invited to participate in their banter, or if Noah would take offense. Maybe Noah hadn’t even told them about his stint in juvie at the beginning of junior year.

They resumed their walk, this time the four of them together, although Kurt was still mostly a witness to their reunion. He listened to their endless stories about the camp grounds; it seemed that every little rock and bench and tree had significance to at least one of them.

“When did you start coming here?” Kurt asked Anthony.

“Fifth grade’s the earliest you can do theater camp,” he said. “Before that it’s just regular camp, archery and swimming and stuff. I did the four-week until I was twelve, then I started coming for six weeks, when you can participate in Bryce’s productions.”

“But _next_ year, he’s going to NYADA,” said Chris, taunting Anthony with a dramatic frown. “No more Usdan for you.”

“Congratulations!” Kurt said, smiling, but Anthony just shrugged, looking uncomfortable, and Kurt let his smile fade away.

He wasn’t sure how to ask about it until later, when Anthony and Noah went off to find other friends, and he and Chris returned to Laura Keane. Kurt’s roommate still hadn’t returned to their room.

“I don’t understand why Anthony wasn’t more excited about NYADA,” Kurt said, closing the door behind him. “Isn’t it hard to get in?”

Chris gazed at him from where he was artlessly sprawled on Kurt’s bed. “Anthony’s been doing this long enough to know, if he were really as good as he needs to be, he wouldn’t have to go to NYADA. He’d already have roles lined up.”

“Isn’t that a little extreme?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. He’s got a lot going for him. He’s been dancing since he was five years old, he lives in the city, and he’s butch enough to play straight roles. His parents can afford NYADA.” He made a throw-away gesture. “He’ll spend a couple years in dramatic jail and emerge a new man. In the meantime, he’ll audition his tail off. If he’s lucky, he’ll get his breakthrough role in a real production before he graduates.”

Kurt sighed, sinking down on the edge of his absent roommate’s mattress. “Sometimes I wonder why I’m even bothering, if the stakes are that high.”

“Because you fucking love it,” said Chris. He sounded amused. “Because you can’t live without it. That’s the only reason to bother. But sure, whatever. Quit. More roles for the rest of us.” Kurt glared at Chris, but he just held up his hands in surrender. “I’m serious. Life would be a lot easier for _me_ if I didn’t have to compete against you. Or, hell, Mr. Asher Who-Needs-A-Stage-Name Morgan.” He furrowed his brow. “Where is he, anyway?”

Kurt had been wondering the same thing. He was beginning to wonder if Asher was even a real person. His things were neatly organized on his desk and beside his bed, but there wasn’t anything personal anywhere Kurt could see. Kurt had immediately hung a framed photo on the wall next to his bed. It showed his dad and Carole on their wedding day, along with Finn and Tina and Mercedes, and one of the whole Glee club from sophomore year, including Noah. Asher, on the other hand, didn’t have any photos.

“Maybe he’s shy?” Kurt guessed.

Chris blew a big raspberry at that. “Not on his audition video he wasn’t. Now, Kurt. You can’t go into auditions thinking _I wonder why I’m even bothering._ You have to own it—and you have to make Bryce notice. Make it your mission to stand out.”

He laughed. “You know, that’s precisely the opposite of what Blaine was trying to get me to do at Dalton all last spring.”

In one quick move, Chris’s eyes flew open, and he clapped and pointed at Kurt. “That’s it!”

“It is?”

“Yes! That’s the school Asher went to: Dalton. Did you guys really go to the same school and you don’t recognize his name?”

Kurt shook his head in confusion. “It’s not exactly a small place…”

The lock clicked, the doorknob turned, and both Kurt and Chris looked up—to see the blotchy, teary face of Juror 12 gazing back at them.

“Oh…” The boy gave his eyes a miserable pass with his bare arm. “Shit.”

 _“You?”_ blurted Kurt.

Asher glanced over at Chris, then nodded at Kurt, closing the door as he entered. Out of his Dalton uniform, he looked a lot more buff—not to mention more scared—but there as no doubt as to who he was.

Chris looked oddly satisfied. “So you do know him.”

“He was the only other one cast in Twelve Angry Men who left because the casting was racist,” Kurt said.

Now Chris gave Asher an appreciative nod. Asher didn’t seem bothered by this, despite his red-rimmed eyes. He was still watching Kurt.

“You inspired me,” he said softly. “I don’t think I would have left if you hadn’t, but afterward… I couldn’t stay in that show, not with those directors.”

Asher’s flushed, teary face was so at odds with the rest of his tidy appearance, Kurt felt a pang of sympathy. He wondered if it would be inappropriate to offer his handkerchief.

“We should get out of your way.” Kurt beckoned to Chris, who pulled himself to an unwillingly vertical position. “Give you a chance to clean up.”

“Yeah.” Asher flashed him a grateful look. “I won’t need long. Thanks.”

They backed into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind them. Chris didn’t appear to be worried.

“New boys sometimes freak out at being away from home,” he said dismissively. “He’ll be fine.”

As Kurt followed Chris from the residence hall back to the kitchen, he received a text from Finn. _We stopped for lunch. I think my mom’s going to make me drive for a while, so your dad can take a nap._

 _Dad’s a big baby about driving long distances,_ Kurt replied. _I can’t believe he went this far without asking to switch off._

_So is Puck there or not?_

_He’s here, somewhere._ Kurt scanned the sidewalk, but there was no sign of him among any of the groups of campers. _Now ask me if he’s even talking to me._

_Five bucks says that won’t last a week._

He grinned. _You’re on. I would never be so happy to lose a bet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re looking for a visual for Asher Morgan, it’s coming in the next chapter. The racist casting of Twelve Angry Men occurred in the last part of chapter 9 of So Tyrannous and Rough in Proof.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief reference to suicidal ideation. 
> 
> Chris’s roommate Ian is played in this series by Jake T. Austin. There are numerous small OC parts scattered throughout the story to round out all the necessary roles, but you don’t have to keep track of them. I have not bothered to cast them all, but feel free to ask in the comments if you are looking for a visual for a specific person. 
> 
> -amy

Of the hundred-odd campers in the current session, only about half were there for the full six weeks. Kurt was a little surprised to realize just how many of them were significantly younger than he was.

“Fifth grade is really young,” he murmured to Chris, watching them mill around them.

Chris nodded emphatically. “Even ninth grade is barely human. But trust me, among all the regular campers, there are those that have been doing bit parts and commercials since they were in diapers. They’re short and they all sound like girls, but they’re still professionals, and every one of them is out to take the lead roles from us.”

“From you, anyway,” Kurt corrected. “I’m not their competition. Or yours, for that matter.”

Chris pursed his lips, and shrugged. “We’ll see. I’m not sure if you are or you aren’t yet.”

They got in line for lunch. On drop-off day, it would just be wrapped sandwiches and chips. The food wasn’t fancy, although it was a step up even from Dalton’s cafeteria.

Chris led them back outside through a side door and onto a stone patio, to an area where a few boys and girls were talking and eating.

“This is Kurt,” Chris announced to the small crowd, without bothering to wait for them to stop their own conversation. Nobody seemed put off by it, though, and Kurt offered a tentative wave.

“You’re Puck’s friend,” said a boy with a round face. He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look hostile either. When Kurt nodded, he added, “I’m Ian.”

The others gave their names—Harriet, Curtis, Teresa—which Kurt promptly forgot. Chris drew him away from the group once they were done eating.

“I think I’m going to need name tags,” said Kurt.

“Trust me, you’ll remember anybody worth remembering. And everybody else who _thinks_ they’re worth remembering will remind you who they are as many times as it takes.” Chris smiled and slung a casual arm around his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go see if anybody’s on the big stage.”

There was a small group of younger girls, although they cleared out quickly, stammering apologies, as soon as they saw Chris. At least one of them paused to flirt. Chris gave them all magnanimous smiles before shooing them out the door with a sigh.

“I have less and less patience for girls the older I get,” he confided in Kurt. “When I’m cast in a straight role, I can’t seem to convince the leading ladies I’m only _acting_ when I tell them I want to get into their pants.”

“Perhaps your reputation precedes you?” Kurt suggested, and Chris laughed, shrugging.

“I can’t imagine anybody has _that_ good a memory. I’ve been a gold-star gay since eighth grade, when I gave up practicing making out with Lila Gilbert in the costume wardrobe.” He walked to the center of the stage, gazing up into the wings, and held open his arms to encompass the entire auditorium. In a strong, effortless tenor, he sang:

_I'll dance and I'll sing. I'll do anything  
_ _Just to get my name in lights  
_ _I've got to try to hit the heights  
_ _Now that I'm free as a breeze again  
_ _Old nimble knees again  
_ _And soon they'll all know my name  
_ _I'll have fortune and fame  
_ _When I get my name in lights_

_It can happen overnight in these modern times  
_ _So hold that front page  
_ _This boy was born to strut the stage…_

Kurt sang along under his breath, smiling. _The Boy From Oz_ was one of the most quintessentially gay musicals of all time. When Chris dropped his hands, grinning brilliantly, he felt a little stab of jealousy for his easy bravado.

 _I could never pull that off,_ he thought. _Not like Chris, or even like Noah._

But then Chris approached him, holding his hands out, and Kurt had to retreat, feeling suddenly shy.

“Come on,” Chris said, beckoning.

“I can’t. What if somebody comes in?”

“Then they’ll think you’re totally awesome. Come _on,_ I’m going to show you how to win auditions.”

That was enough of a lure to draw Kurt to stand downstage center beside Chris. There was no spotlight, but as he pointed up to the center of the auditorium, Kurt could almost see it.

 _“That’s_ the person you need to convince,” he said conspiratorially. “Not the director. Bryce will be sitting closer, here. You need to talk to the person in the audience who’s sitting _there,_ about two-thirds of the way up the room. You need to make it feel like the whole room is irrelevant except for that one person, sitting up there. They need to hear every word you say—but it can never _sound_ loud. They have to believe you are one hundred percent here for only them.” Chris cocked his head as he pointed. “Who’s it going to be?”

Kurt glanced from Chris to the spot in the audience and back. “What do you mean?”

“Who’s sitting there? Who’s the person you’re performing for?”

The answer was impossibly obvious, but he held his breath, wondering if this was some kind of test. Chris raised an eyebrow.

“Your boyfriend? Who?”

Kurt opened his mouth, and stammered, “My—my mom.”

Chris didn’t hesitate, nodding agreement, as though it made all the sense in the world. “Yes. She’s the one you want to tell all your secrets to.” He swept Kurt forward one more step, gesturing at the audience. “Go ahead.”

With sudden tears in his eyes, Kurt stared at the dark auditorium. He squinted, as though she might somehow actually _be_ there, and if he looked in the right way, she might be revealed to his eyes.

“And what part will you be auditioning for today, Mr. Hummel?” came the soft query from behind him.

“For Romeo,” he replied, equally softly.

Chris chuckled. “Sorry, honey, that part’s reserved for actors far more butch than you or me. Anthony will be Romeo, or possibly Asher, if I read him right. If Bryce casts this play the way everybody’s been doing it since the Baz Luhrmann movie, Mercutio is the flamboyant gay character. That’s the one you’ll be auditioning for.”

Kurt dropped his gaze to the stage, blushing with embarrassment and indignation. “That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s theater,” Chris said gently. He placed a hand on Kurt’s back, squeezing his shoulder before letting it go again. “We play the hand we were dealt.”

When Kurt blew out a breath in obvious indignation, Chris snickered. It just made Kurt madder. “I’m serious! Why should the world care if I sound—the way I sound? Leading roles don’t have to be tall or masculine.”

“But that’s what sells.” Chris was clearly teasing, but Kurt could see a flash of something fierce and hard in his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was directed at him or at the world. “People don’t pay to see shows with guys like us in leading roles. They pay to see Noah Puckerman strut his considerable stuff and demonstrate his comedic timing in his rich, sexy baritone.” His lips twitched. “It doesn’t matter a twisted ballsack what Puck does in bed between acts. He’s got the capacity to convince the audience that he wants to have mind-blowing sex with the leading lady. _That’s_ what sells.”

Kurt shook his head. “What about all the people in the audience who don’t care about the leading lady?”

“Ten percent or less,” said Chris airily. “Not a big enough proportion to matter in the grand scheme of things. But…” He shrugged, and blew him a kiss. “That doesn’t mean _we_ can’t have fun with the leading fella between acts.”

“I don’t care about that,” Kurt said, with some heat. He wanted to stamp his foot, but that would perhaps be feeding the stereotype a little too thoroughly. “I’m not in theater to have sex.”

Chris laughed as he walked toward the door. “More for me, then.”

It was a clear dismissal, but he grinned over his shoulder at Kurt, which took some of the sting out of it. When he paused and held out his hand, Kurt took a couple quick steps and caught up to him to grasp it. He felt a tingle as Chris squeezed it tight, then let it go as they exited the auditorium.

This time Chris led Kurt to his own room, on the first floor of Laura Keene. Kurt was able to determine within minutes that Noah was not, in fact, Chris’s roommate. It wasn’t a surprise, but was at least a relief. Kurt could already tell that watching Chris and Noah try _not_ to be attracted to one another all summer was going to be more exhausting than he’d anticipated.

“So,” said Chris. He sat at his desk, picking up a small, flat, decorative box. “You told me what you wanted to play in the Shakespeare. What about in _Earnest?”_

Kurt wondered if he should mention Bryce Coleman’s conversation with Noah in Central Park last spring, how he’d all but told Noah he wanted him to audition for Algernon. Noah had said that was Chris’s part, but he hadn’t sounded upset by Bryce’s suggestion.

“I don’t really know the play well enough to be sure.”

Chris waved him away. “There’s Algernon or Jack, and not much else that’s fun, really, unless you’re a girl. _Romeo & Juliet_ has lots of smaller parts, so I’d recommend you go for one of the big roles in _Earnest.”_

Kurt rubbed his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on. “Look… can I tell you something?”

“The answer to that will never be no.”

“I just… I really don’t get what you’re trying to do here.”

“Elaborate?”

“Well, you tell me you don’t know if I’m competition, and then you coach me on how to audition? I feel like all spring you’ve been trying to convince me how to get in here, and now that I _am,_ it’s—what? Another test?”

Chris’s attention appeared to be on the box. He turned it over in his hands, considering it. “Maybe not the way you mean it.”

“What does that mean?” Kurt said warily.

“You texted me back in the fall when you thought Puck was cheating on you. Then I helped you with your audition monologues.”

“Yes?”

Chris tapped the box on his knuckles. “Well, I kind of got that you didn’t want to stop talking after I stopped spying for you.”

“I didn’t. I mean, I still don’t.” He watched him for cues, but Chris was being particularly cagy at the moment. “I appreciated you being willing to help me figure out what was going on with Puck, but I also really like having a friend who likes theater.”

“I like it too, Kurt.” His voice was soft. He opened the end of the decorative box, like a flap.

“What is that thing?”

“It’s a hundred-year-old cigarette case.” With dextrous fingers, Chris twirled it. Then he set it down on his desk again, patting it. “It’s a prop for _Earnest._ I’ve been practicing.”

“Oh.” Kurt paused, then added hesitantly, “You said it wasn’t what I thought. What kind of a test is it, then?”

“Like you said. Having a friend who likes theater. That’s been really good.”

He smiled frankly at Kurt, a more honest smile than Kurt had seen from him. Kurt smiled back. “Okay? I mean—you have lots of friends who like theater.”

“Not ones I’m _not_ fooling around with.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Chris said them with such matter-of-factness, Kurt wasn’t sure how to respond. Before he could, Chris smiled again.

“It’s not a test for you. It’s a test for me. The truth is, I like the way it’s been with us over text this year, and I wanted to make sure I could do it in person.”

It wasn’t easy to look at Chris’s casually confident face. “To make sure you could be friends with me, without…?”

“Yes. That.” He touched the edge of the cigarette case. “Puck and I are pretty bad friends when we’re not having sex.”

“Yeah, I think I got that.” Kurt steeled himself, then added, “Maybe you should be. Doing that, then.”

“Of course we _should_ be,” Chris agreed. “Fuck, yeah. He’s the one who said no. But I thought, maybe it’s not like that with you.”

“I think chances are good we can be friends, even if I never fool around with you.”

Even saying the words felt like the weirdest hubris to Kurt, but Chris just nodded.

“I’m game to try it if you are.” He flashed a wicked grin. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to flirt with you, though. Pretty sure that doesn’t have an off setting.”

Kurt tried to ignore the heat in his cheeks. “I think that’s okay. I mean, it is.” He cleared his throat. “I like it. The flirting. But not anything else. Okay?”

“Okay.” Chris agreed. “Truce. Or whatever it’s called when you’re hanging out but not having sex.”

Kurt couldn’t help but laugh. “I think that’s called _friendship?”_

It felt like a long walk up the stairs to his room. He paused outside the door, listening, and considered knocking, but then got annoyed enough at the idea that he would have to knock on his own door that he just unlocked it and walked in.

Asher was sitting on top of his neatly made bed, paging through a notebook. He didn’t look like he was crying anymore, at least. Kurt tried smiling at him.

“I bet it’s already been a long day for you,” Asher said. “You drove in today?”

“We drove most of the way yesterday,” said Kurt, “then only a couple of hours this morning.” He pointed at the door. “I’m sorry Chris was here when you arrived; I didn’t know when you would be back.”

He shook his head. “Your boyfriend’s allowed to hang out in the room.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. I don’t really have a boyfriend. I mean—kind of, back at Dalton, but I tried to break up with him, and he… well, never mind.” Kurt took a deep breath. “It’s complicated.”

“I’d buy that.” Now Asher smiled back. “I’m an expert at complicated. Not at boyfriends, though.”

“Girlfriends?” Kurt guessed. Asher laughed.

“Not an expert at those either, although I suppose you might say I wouldn’t rule anybody out.”

 _That’s how my ex was,_ Kurt though, but he wasn’t about to out Noah to anybody, no matter how many times Noah had assured him things were different in the theater. He stretched out full-length on his bed, resting back on his mound of pillows, and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling.

“Are you okay?” Asher said tentatively.

Kurt blinked, but it seemed that ignoring his feelings was no longer sufficient. His tears spilled over the corners of his eyes, dripping down into his ears. He sniffed. “Not really.”

“I know we literally just met, like, half an hour ago, but… I’m sorry.”

He chuckled wetly, rubbing his hand across his nose as he dug in his pocket for his handkerchief. “Thank you. I really do appreciate it.”

It was so much worse than being at home, because now, he couldn’t even call him. To make it worse, not only was he now in the same building as Noah, but he had no idea how to find him.

 _He’ll call you if he wants to talk,_ Kurt told himself firmly. _Just give him space. He deserves that._

Asher coexisted silently with him for the next hour or so, reading a book Kurt didn’t recognize, while Kurt unpacked the rest of his things.

“You’re a senior next year, too?” Asher asked.

Kurt nodded. “Although I’m not at Dalton anymore. I transferred back to McKinley in Lima. I didn’t even last a whole semester.”

“No judgment, trust me.” He looked at Kurt sympathetically. “I’m not sure what I would have done if I’d come to Dalton halfway through my junior year. The academics are brutal. And you were doing all those extracurriculars. You sang with the Warblers, too, right?”

“Until we lost at Regionals. After that I went back to McKinley for Nationals. And lost there, too, I might add.” He paused. “How do you know I sang with the Warblers?”

“Um—” Asher looked away hurriedly. “I was kind of a fan.”

Kurt attempted to smother his smile. “Was?”

“Am. Still am.” Now his look was pleading. “Don’t judge me. I have a big crush on the lead singer. Not that he will ever know I exist.”

Kurt couldn’t keep the laugh from bubbling up. “Oh, wow. Yeah.” He shielded his brow in his hand momentarily. “You’ll probably find out eventually, so I should tell you now that I’m kind of dating him.”

Asher’s breathing became momentarily labored. “You’re dating _Blaine Anderson?”_

“Attempting not to date. I tried several times to break up with him.” Kurt turned a half-smile on Asher, who looked stricken. “He’s a really nice guy.”

“God.” Asher covered his face with both hands until his voice was muffled. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“No, really, you don’t have to be. You’re not the only one who feels that way about him. He’s… charismatic.”

“I know,” Asher said mournfully. He let his head fall back and land against the wall. “Can we please talk about anything else?”

Kurt cast around for any other topic. “Um… are you planning to audition for a part in _Romeo & Juliet_, or _Earnest_?”

“Well, both, of course. Not that I think I’m a shoo-in or anything, but I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t think I at least had a chance.” He looked across at Kurt. “You?”

“I don’t know if I _do_ have a chance, but I think I’ve been talked into auditioning anyway. My, um. My ex, he’s been getting lead parts since he was a freshman, along with Chris—that’s my not-boyfriend you saw before.”

“Your ex is here?” Asher looked at him with greater interest. “At Usdan? That’s awkward.”

“Tell me about it,” Kurt agreed. “I’ll be happy if we can get through the summer without killing each other.”

“Oh, man. That does not sound fun.” He paused, appearing flustered. “I mean… I’m sure your friends have got your back.”

There was an awkward extended silence after that, but Kurt couldn’t find a way to fill it. He spent the intervening time arranging his clothes in the closet and wondering if if he could legitimately claim to have friends who had his back. Maybe they were, in fact, all cutthroat actors and not to be trusted. Even Noah was under suspicion. After all, he’d been coming here since sixth grade; there was no way he wasn’t going to use every advantage given to him. Was it even reasonable to assume Kurt could ever expect him to be on his side?

Around five-thirty, there was a knock on their door. Asher went to answer it. A young man wearing his long black hair in a ponytail stood there, holding a clipboard and smiling expectantly.

“Asher, right? You arrived earlier. And you must be… Kurt.” Kurt nodded. “I’m Manoj, the second floor supervisor. I’m at the end by the stairs. We’re getting ready to head to dinner.”

They made their way into the hallway, surrounded by dozens of other boys. When Kurt smiled at them, they just looked even more obviously nervous.

“They’re so young,” Asher whispered into his ear as they moved down the hallway toward the stairs.

It was just what he’d been thinking earlier. Now, Kurt saw several kids who reminded him of how Noah had been at their age, displaying the kind of bluster and bravado he’d always worn for the world to see. In retrospect, it was almost charming.

“Yeah, but they’re professionals,” Kurt told him. “I’ve been warned already. We can’t assume they’re not going to scoop the good parts because they’re young.”

Asher looked startled. “I wasn’t thinking of them as actors. I mean, really, they’re just little kids away from home.”

Kurt thought about it as they entered the dining room. He stood in line as before, this time taking spoonfuls of food from the buffet, and was ushered by Manoj to sit with the older campers. Kurt barely noticed what food he selected.

The more he thought, the more annoyed he became. Asher didn’t comment on it, but Chris, who sat three seats down from Kurt at the long table, did.

“It’s only the first day, Kurt,” Chris said, smirking, “and you’ve already got a bug up your butt?”

Noah snickered. Seated on Chris’s other side, he was too far away for Kurt to see his face, but Kurt would know his voice anywhere.

With some effort, Kurt kept both his voice and face neutral. “I can’t imagine that would be comfortable.”

Anthony laughed, but Chris just rolled his eyes and beckoned. “Please, do share.”

“It’s what you said about the younger kids.” Kurt broke apart a roll and stared at it. “That they might be young, but they’re still professionals, and that I need to watch out because they’re all out to audition for the same roles I am. Is that really the way theater is?”

“Uh, _yeah,”_ said Noah’s derisive voice. “It’s hundreds of opportunistic assholes vying for one part because they need to eat and pay their rent. Why, did you think it would be one big happy family, like fucking Glee club?”

“It’s not really like that, Puck.” Anthony glared at Puck, then turned to Kurt in appeal. “It’s not.”

“Except it kind of is,” Chris added, sounding not at all apologetic.

Kurt could see Asher watching him with clear discomfort. This wasn’t exactly the place to have a big argument. He brushed his bangs away from his face. “And do you think it’s possible to be able to break through that kind of experience if you missed accessing the window for private lessons at five years old?”

“Danny Glover didn’t become an actor until he was in his thirties,” said Anthony, gesturing with his fork. “He was a city planner. And Michael Emerson was an illustrator until he went back to college for theater in his forties.”

“You got in here, Kurt,” said Trinity, on the other side of Chris. She looked sympathetic. “Trust me, I saw your video. You’re not a hack. Just go with that.”

Kurt tried not to feel placated by their words. It wasn’t that he was intimidated by their experience. At least, that’s what he told himself as he finished his dinner.

 _I just don’t want to get to the end and discover people have been humoring me all along,_ he thought glumly. He picked up his dishes and shuffled out after Asher.

“We’re getting together in the main room to do some getting-to-know-you activities,” Manoj said to Asher on the way back.

Asher looked mildly alarmed. “I’m pretty tired,” he admitted, glancing at Kurt, who nodded.

“You’re not the only ones. Well, set your alarm. Breakfast’s at seven-thirty. See you then.”

Asher kept to himself before getting ready for bed, at which point he disappeared into the bathroom. When he came out, he was wearing a tank top and boxers. Kurt pointedly ignored him as he went about his own bedroom routine, hoping that would make him feel more comfortable. Asher was clearly curious about Kurt’s skin care products, but although Kurt could feel him watching as he applied each serum and cream, he continued to say nothing.

Kurt considered texting Finn again before bed. He absolutely was not going to text either Chris or Noah. He had no idea whether this whole experience was a juvenile hazing ritual, or Noah preferring Chris over him, or something else entirely. Regardless, he wasn’t going to figure it out before bed. It was better to leave them both alone.

Asher remained silent as they settled into their respective beds and turned off the light. Kurt waited what seemed to him to be an appropriate amount of time before he decided to speak up.

“You were really upset this afternoon when you came back to the room.”

He heard Asher let out a sigh. “Yeah, I was.”

“Like you said, we just met a couple of hours ago, but I’m sorry. And…” He bit his lip, then went on. “I wanted you to know, the way Chris and Puck were being, I’m not like that. I’m not saying I’m nice all the time, but—”

“No, no. I can tell. You’re not like that. Thanks.”

“I mean, we’re roommates, and we’re both new, and this place… I think it might end up being a little hard to navigate sometimes. Do you suppose we can agree to... to be nice to one another, at least?” Kurt knew his own voice was coming out a little wobbly, but he pushed through it. “Like, even if the rest of the kids here _are_ cutthroat professional actors, at least we won’t have to feel scared in our own room.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Asher’s voice hadn’t risen above a murmur, but Kurt could tell he was listening. “You really think we should be scared of them?”

“No.” Kurt put his head back against the wall. “Possibly. I don’t know.”

“Okay. What do you know, then?”

“A lot less than I thought I did.”

“That… sounds more complicated than worrying about your social standing at camp?”

Kurt sighed. “Well, I guess I used to think I had a trajectory in theater? I wasn’t going to win any major awards, but I was learning how to be part of an ensemble. How to blend in. But then, um... somebody got angry at me when I was at Dalton because he thought me, trying to blend in, was bullshit. Not because I’m not good enough, he said, but because…” He swallowed. “Because I’m a star.”

“Yeah, you don’t really look like you would blend very well anywhere.”

“That’s accurate. So… standing out at Dalton, a place where everybody’s encouraged to be the same, was stressful. And then showing up _here_ and having to navigate this new culture and hearing Chris tell me how good everybody else is, and then he—” Kurt closed his mouth on an unexpected sob.

“What?” Asher said softly.

“I thought Chris and I were friends,” he forced out. “Like, it was nice having a friend who was gay and liked theater, like me. And then this afternoon he told me he wasn’t sure if he could be friends with somebody without having sex with them? And it just… it threw me off.”

There was a shuffling noise in the dark. “You wanted him to like you for _you,_ not for sex.”

That was _so_ much exactly it that Kurt had to pause for a moment to manage the impending tears. He let out a bitter laugh. “Seriously. I get enough mixed messages from Puck. I don’t need them from Chris, too.”

“Puck?”

“The other boy from dinner.”

 _“He’s_ your ex?”

“He’s… an old friend.” It felt a little like it didn’t matter what he said and a little like he should stop talking now, but Kurt wasn’t sure he could. He tried to take a deep breath, and it caught in his chest. “We used to date, kind of. I don’t even know what we’re doing now. He’s closeted at home.”

It felt like less of an explanation than a defense mechanism. Asher was quiet for a while after that. Kurt sat in the dark, his emotions a knot of turmoil in his stomach. Finally, Asher sighed.

“I, uh. I know something about standing out in a place where everybody’s supposed to look the same.”

“Yeah?” He had some guesses about what Asher meant, because even though he was just as devastatingly handsome as Chris had described, Kurt knew that was no guarantee of protection against assholes. “What happened?”

“Just, you know. All of it. Middle school was hard. I grew up south of Columbus in a town with one stoplight and three churches and a bar and that was about it. They definitely didn’t have anything for kids like me. I read about Dalton when I was contemplating alternatives.”

“To public school?”

Asher laughed quietly. “To living.”

“Oh.” Kurt licked his lips. “I—that’s terrible.”

“It was. Still is sometimes. But Dalton’s zero tolerance policy on bullying still applied to me, and that was enough of a reason to stay there, even if plenty of guys thought I shouldn’t have come at all. Or my parents.”

He furrowed his brow. “Your parents didn’t want you at Dalton?”

“I think they can only handle me being at Dalton because I had a single room. They still think I shouldn’t be living at a school with a bunch of guys. That’s why I was so upset earlier. They were telling the counselors I should be in one of the girls’ cabins here, even though I requested to be with the boys.”

Kurt’s mind immediately went to the Madonna song he’d sung with Noah and the other boys in Glee club. “I mean, that’s crappy of them, but I guess I can see that point of view? I still spend most of my time with girls. It’s so much safer, in so many ways. Dalton was especially scary because I was sure they were going to judge me for not being enough of a boy. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Like they were judging you inside, even if they didn’t say it?” Asher sounded relieved.

“Well, I’m sure they were doing that anyway. I felt far too working-class to fit in, and I definitely left my most ostentatious wardrobe at home.” When Asher laughed, Kurt smiled. “You think I’m kidding.”

“No, I saw what you were wearing earlier. The hat was fabulous, by the way.”

‘Thanks.”

“I never managed to be as invisible at Dalton as I wanted to be.” Asher laughed quietly. “I figured it would be easier to start over in a place where nobody knew me, but I still had to deal with everybody’s reactions. Maybe I was hoping I could pass better than I did.”

“Pass as who?”

There was a pause. “As a cis boy.”

“A—what?”

“You seriously don’t know what that means?”

“I do,” Kurt said hurriedly, “I know what it means, I just never—I mean, I didn’t realize you—I’ve never met a—“ He closed his mouth. “I’m sorry.”

Asher sounded so disappointed. “I guess I hoped you’d be cool with it. Since you’re, like, fabulous.”

Kurt sat up and turned on the light. As Asher blinked and squinted into the sudden brightness, Kurt swung his legs over the edge of the bed to face him.

“No, I am,” he said emphatically. “I really am okay with it. You just caught me by surprise.”

Asher nodded warily. “I’m really the first trans guy you’ve ever met?”

“The first one who ever told me he was, anyway. Yes.”

He nodded again. A smile flickered over his lips. “I think I’m still always a little surprised when I do pass.”

“Well, it wasn’t really on my radar, but... I can’t imagine it would be on most people’s? Like... you’re clearly a boy.”

Kurt looked hard at him, at his muscular shoulders, his hairy ankles, the stubble on his jaw, and tried to imagine Asher presenting any other way than he did right now. He looked away after he noticed Asher staring back.

“You’d be surprised how many guys disagree with you,” he said wryly. “Especially when they end up having something at stake. But thanks.”

Kurt interpreted Asher settling back down as a cue to turn the light back off. He returned to his nest of pillows.

“Thanks, to you, too,” Kurt said softly. “For listening, and being nice. I’m sorry I was so insensitive.”

“You weren’t.”

“Yeah, I was, but… that’s not who I am, I promise. I hope you believe me. I could really use a friend.”

“That sounds good,” said Asher. He still didn’t quite sound like he believed him, though.

“I want this room to be a safe space.” He sighed. “Which is easier than just saying it is, I know. Remind me to tell you some time about my major mishap trying to make my room a safe space for someone else.”

“Yeah, I will. Good night, Kurt.”

Sleep was a long time coming. It didn’t matter that Noah and Chris were both in the same building with him. It felt like they were both a million miles away. Kurt stared into the darkness, wondering if every actor felt this alone the first night they spent in New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [“When I Get My Name in Lights”](https://youtu.be/b-guh4vCMWs) is from the musical The Boy From Oz. 
> 
> [Here’s the promised photo of Aydian Dowling](https://nubianamy.tumblr.com/post/622897436253356032/in-my-puckurt-fanfiction-series-there-all-the), the individual I cast as Asher.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Kurt has said in the past, Bryce looks [a lot like Donald Sutherland](https://nubianamy.tumblr.com/post/622990519421845504/i-chose-donald-sutherland-to-represent-my-oc-bryce).  
> -amy

Kurt picked up a text from Finn on his way to lunch the next day. _So how is camp so far?_

_Can I just say being an actor doesn’t imply a person has any sense of style?_

Finn’s response was slow in coming. Kurt paused on the sidewalk when it arrived. _Does it even matter if they do? It’s camp, right?_

_Let me be judgy about this, okay? Everybody’s judging me about everything else._

_You get three days of being judgy,_ Finn told him. _Is that even a word? My phone doesn’t think so._

Kurt caught up to Asher, who was standing with three girls by the entrance to the dining room. They weren’t letting him get a word in edgewise, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“My stepbrother,” Kurt said, holding up his phone. “Unless—nobody’s going to take away my phone at lunch, are they?”

“Not unless they catch you with it during studio. Then you’re screwed.” The shortest of the three girls stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Bethany. Yvonne, Grace.”

He shook it. “Kurt.” When her eyes lit up, he sighed. “Don’t tell me _you_ saw my audition video, too?”

“No, but…” She hesitated, wearing a little smile. “You’re Puck’s Kurt, right?”

He tried to ignore his burning ears. “Perhaps at one time, yes.”

“He used to talk about you all the time.” As Yvonne tugged on her arm, Bethany backed away and waved. “Nice to meet you. I’ll talk to you later, Asher.”

“Bye.” Asher waited until the girls had left to add under his breath, _“Puck’s Kurt_ sounds like a lot more than _old friends.”_

Kurt shrugged, feeling prickly with hunger and loneliness. “Well, he ignored me all morning during our script analysis class. At least he wasn’t in my section of stage combat or, god, improv.”

“So old friends avoid each other?”

He blew his bangs off his forehead. “Sometimes? Look, I wish I knew what he wanted from me, but until he _tells_ me, I’m not wasting my energy on him. I’m here to learn the craft of theater, not to—to hook up.”

Asher smiled encouragingly. “Well, auditions for Mr. Coleman’s productions are Thursday. If you’re not planning to do any hooking up between now and then, I could use a scene partner.”

Kurt held out his hand, and Asher shook it. “That’s as good a place to start as any.”

Asher’s scene notes were just as meticulous as his room organization. Sitting at the lunch table, Kurt flipped through his copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ , blinking at the copious color-coded markings.

“You look like you might have read this a few times.”

“More times than I would care to admit,” Asher agreed. “We had to read it my sophomore year in English class, and I wrote a paper about the non-role of Rosaline and its importance in developing dramatic tension, but I’ve honestly never considered auditioning for it. I’ve never performed Shakespeare before.”

“Me, either. Other than rehearsing with Noah. Puck,” he added, at Asher’s confused look. “Noah Puckerman. He became Puck two summers ago when they did _Midsummer Night’s Dream_. He lives and breathes Shakespeare.”

“Oh.” Asher made a face. “I hate to say it, Kurt, but he seems like he’s kind of a jerk.”

Kurt looked at his feet. “Yeah. I know. He always was.”

“Still… maybe you _should_ make up with him. If he’s the one who’s going to really help you get the part you want—”

“No!” Kurt planted his hand hard on the table, making both Asher and the salt shaker jump. “No. I don’t need to depend on Puck for the success of my career. I can do this without him.”

They ended up working their way through Act One, Scene 1 in order, trading lines back and forth without worrying about who was playing which parts. It was impossible not to notice the attention they were drawing from other campers passing by their lunch table, but Asher remained focused on their task, and that helped Kurt to ignore the curious stares and whispers and stick to the script.

Kurt paused at the end of the fight scene between Benvolio and Tybalt, grinning at Asher as he read Lady Capulet’s lines without hesitation.

“This is just what Puck and I did with the script from _Pygmalion_ when we were freshmen,” he told Asher. “I thought he was going to balk at reading a female part, but he just played it, like himself. Like Brian Bedford did when we saw him play Lady Bracknell in _Earnest.”_

“You saw that show?” Asher’s eyes were round as he stood, gathering up his tray.

“Last spring, when our Glee club came to New York.” He cast an admiring glance at Asher. “And you’ve never done Shakespeare? You could have fooled me. That sounded really good.”

“You, too.” Asher laughed. He appeared to be completely at ease. “You’re better than I expected you to be.”

“I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Walking around Usdan with Asher felt very similar to walking around Dalton with Blaine, except instead of being surrounded by blushing, admiring boys, now it was a generous helping of everyone. Asher didn’t seem to register the attention, though he smiled politely at everyone who passed them.

“We have masterclass next, but we could finish our read-through afterward, before dinner, if you want to?”

“Yes, please,” Kurt agreed fervently. “I’d say we should skip evening workshops, but I think Manoj is going to read us the riot act if we don’t do at least some enforced socializing.”

Kurt’s mind was still on the interplay between Tybalt and Benvolio when he and Asher walked into the main room of the building marked _Jerome Robbins_. There was a double handful of senior campers seated in a semicircle. Chris and Noah were seated together, with Bryce on the opposite side.

The expression on Noah’s face made his heart skip a couple beats, but Noah appeared not to even notice Kurt was there. He was focused on an elaborate story Chris was telling, grinning in an entirely unselfconscious way. Kurt was pretty sure he had never seen Noah look that way at anybody else before.

 _Except for me,_ he thought, with a jolt of dismay. It wasn’t a comfortable realization.

Anthony gave Kurt a subtle wave, and he waved back, but he wasn’t about to approach Noah in front of the entire room and risk having a confrontation with him, no matter how relaxed he seemed. Instead, he chose an empty seat on the other side of the room, close to where Bryce was waiting. Asher sat down beside him. Eventually the chatter quieted, and they all faced Bryce expectantly.

“Welcome,” said Bryce, looking at each of them, “to old and new faces. I know most of you from your audition videos, but you may not know who I am. I’m Bryce Coleman, and I’ll be conducting the masterclass for senior students. I’m also directing the two advanced level productions, which will be Shakespeare’s _Romeo and Juliet_ and Oscar Wilde’s _The Importance of Being Earnest._ Regardless of your prior experience in theater, you were all accepted here as equals. I hope you will all audition, and I’m looking forward to seeing each of you grow as performers this summer.”

He beckoned to Chris and Trinity, who stood and walked to the center facing one another.

“Christopher and Trinity are my senior interns,” Bryce explained. “They’ll be stage managing the two productions, as well as handling your warmups during this class. Trinity, if you would?”

“We’re going to pair you up,” said Trinity. “Each of you are going to choose something to be scared of. It should be something you’re not _actually_ scared of—or else this wouldn’t be acting, right?” She smiled as there was a smattering of nervous laughter. “We’ve got ideas written on pieces of paper in this bowl if you can’t think of a good fear. Don’t tell your partner what it is, but you can introduce yourself and talk about whatever you want. Try to communicate your fear without words.”

Kurt was paired with Bethany, the girl he’d seen with Asher that morning. She looked pleased to see him.

“I’m guessing your fear isn’t other people,” said Kurt.

Bethany laughed. “Not in real life, either,” she agreed. “But I will say I kind of hate exercises like this. Can’t we just get to the acting?”

Kurt nodded. “Zack from _A Chorus Line_ would probably tell you it’s important for actors to learn to be vulnerable. But Morales hated these exercises, too, so—”

They both jumped at the sound of a horrified scream from across the room. Kurt knew who it was before he looked. Noah was plastered against the body of his partner, pale and sweating.

“I _saw_ it,” he insisted, gesturing at the dark corner of the room, his hand trembling. “Biggest fucking one I’ve ever seen—no way, I’m not going any closer—”

The only one who didn’t look at least a little bit alarmed was Bryce. Once Kurt noticed that, he laughed. Everybody turned to look at him.

“You’re scared of spiders,” he said to Noah.

Noah immediately removed his hands from his partner’s frame and straightened up, dusting himself off. The girl was still staring at him, agape, as Noah made a hat-tipping gesture to Kurt, then offered his hand to the girl. “Sorry. Call me Puck.”

Chris started a slow clap, which was probably meant to be ironic, but it was quickly followed by actual applause from several other campers. One of them was Asher, who wore a begrudging smile.

“Get back to it, children,” Bryce said, with a long-suffering sigh, as Noah smirked.

Bethany communicated in the course of their conversation that she lived in Queens, was looking forward to a theater internship to be arranged by Bryce next year, and was afraid of drowning. But Kurt was having a hard time dragging his eyes away from Noah. He was, in addition to being his own cocky self, clearly _happy_ for the first time in months. It was a more compelling sight than Kurt could have imagined.

“You guys go to the same school, right?” she asked at last, following Kurt’s eyes.

He blushed, looking at the floor. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m—”

“Hey, it’s fine.” Bethany shrugged. “Maybe you’re afraid of being attracted to cute boys?” 

“Not really all that much,” Kurt said. But he had to wonder. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had opportunities to date other people. Noah had been front and center in his attention for so many years, he could barely imagine falling in love with somebody else. “As you said, I’m Puck’s Kurt.”

“Yeah, trust me, I know. This is my third year here. _Everybody_ who’s a returning camper knows how Puck feels about you.”

Kurt dared to ask, “And how’s that?”

She grinned. “Like he’s trying to distract himself from thinking about you by flirting with other people. And, once you get two drinks into him, he won’t shut up about how talented and smart and sexy _you_ are.”

“Oh.” He put a hand over his face. “That’s… yeah.”

“I’m sorry to embarrass you. Whatever’s going on between the two of you, that sucks. I hope it’s temporary.”

He managed to smile. “Thanks. Me too.”

The rest of the first half of the class was variants on the first exercise, next in groups of three, and finally in groups of six. Kurt was grateful not to be put in any of Noah’s groups, but he enjoyed the opportunity to get to watch the other campers do a little improvisation.

Asher sought him out at the break. “They’re all so good,” he whispered. “There’s no way I’m getting a part in anything.”

Kurt patted his arm. “Hey, if it helps, Chris said the same thing about you.”

“And Puck. Holy shit.” Asher shook his head in dismay. “I mean… he’s still kind of a jerk, but… that’s not all there is. There’s more.” He raised his eyebrows at Kurt. “I’m guessing a lot more. Right?”

“If you’re talking about his acting, yes. His social skills, not so much. You’ve now seen him at his best.” Kurt rolled his eyes and shushed him when Asher started to laugh. “I am completely not kidding. When I told my friends we were secret boyfriends, they were all—”

“Hey.” They straightened up quickly at the abrupt appearance of Noah beside them. “Don’t keep me in suspense. What’s the joke?”

“Nothing you’d care to know,” Kurt assured him.

Noah smiled. It was his customary lazy smile, but tinged with curiosity. “Come on, Kurt, aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“I’m Asher,” he said, holding out a hand. “Kurt and I are roommates.”

“Yeah, I know.” Noah shook it. “Call me Puck.”

Kurt was gratified to see Asher didn’t appear to be affected by Noah’s charm. Even more amusing was the puzzled expression on Noah’s face when he looked at Asher and Kurt together. _Are you guys messing around?_ was the clear question. Kurt resisted putting an arm around Asher’s waist. 

“You ready for auditions on Thursday?” Noah asked. He seemed to be addressing both of them.

Asher looked at Kurt, then back at Noah. “I’m not sure anymore. I’m pretty sure everyone at this camp is more talented than me.”

“Hey, fuck ‘em.” When Asher laughed, Noah laughed with him. “Everybody’s afraid of something. Use that to your advantage. What’s Romeo afraid of?” Asher hesitated, but Noah just grinned, nudging him. “C’mon. Tell me you’re _not_ auditioning for Romeo.”

Asher grinned reluctantly back. “Well…”

“Yeah, of course you are.” Noah leaned in close, his hands making expressive shapes in the air, like he was imparting a great secret, and Asher leaned in, too, listening closely. “So here’s the thing: Romeo’s the dude who’s full of bad ideas—and he knows they’re bad. He’s sure as shit not going to listen to anybody else’s opinion, but he’s pretty sure his own opinion about everything is just as wrong. So when he finds a chick he thinks is worth holding onto, he’s scared, right? Because either he’s right, it really _is_ worth hanging onto, and he’s going to end up losing it—or he’s wrong, it’s _not_ worth hanging onto, and he’s just making it all up.”

Noah’s expression abruptly dissolved into intense, focused desire. Asher blinked and took a step back as Noah opened his mouth and began speaking, his voice hushed and tremulous:

_But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?  
_ _It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.  
_ _Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,  
_ _Who is already sick and pale with grief,  
_ _That thou her maid art far more fair than she:  
_ _Be not her maid, since she is envious;  
_ _Her vestal livery is but sick and green  
_ _And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.  
_ _It is my lady, O, it is my love!_

The sing-song qualities Kurt most frequently associated with hearing Shakespeare read aloud were absent. Noah’s ability to make iambic pentameter sound like normal speech had always eluded him, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t magnificent to hear Noah do it. He watched Asher’s eyes grow bigger, then narrow in perplexity.

“You’ve got to play Romeo like he’s never going to stop until he gets what he wants,” Noah continued, in his own voice. “No matter what it is. But inside, he’s freaking out the whole time that it’s going to disappear, and it’s all his fault.” He put on that lazy grin again, and gave Asher a friendly pat on the shoulder. “So… break a leg, all right?”

He walked away without waiting for a reply. Asher turned his confused expression back to Kurt.

“What was that?” he demanded.

Kurt sighed. _“That_ was a walking contradiction.”

* * *

Kurt received two texts between dinner and the end of his evening workshop. One was a desperate plea from Finn, timestamped an hour and a half earlier: _Need clothes help and Quinn isn’t answering her phone!_

 _Is it too late to offer wardrobe advice?_ he asked on the way back to Laura Keene. _I just finished practicing how to deliver comedic lines while singing._

Finn replied after a few minutes. _I got mom to help. Guess where I am right now._

_Someplace where you’d need to be dressed up? On a date?_

_At Michael’s house for dinner._

Kurt let out a delighted squeal. _He wanted you to meet his parents? Like, official boyfriend meeting the parents?_

_I don’t think Michael told them details, and we’re not exactly making out at the table, but yeah. They’re being really nice to me._

He bounced in satisfaction. _Who wouldn’t want their son to be dating the quarterback, Finn? You’re a catch. Charm the pants off them._

The other was from Chris, and it didn’t say much, just _Got a minute?_ He figured Chris must have sent it during their break, because he hadn’t even seen him walk away from their workshop.

Kurt decided to keep it just as brief. _What’s up?_

_You want Oreos? I got Oreos._

He had to smile. _I like Oreos._

 _So many mofo Oreos,_ Chris lamented. _Come to my room and eat them._

The door was open when Kurt arrived. Ian was sitting on his bed wearing headphones, his eyes closed. Kurt cast a questioning glance at Chris, who waved his hand at Ian in disregard.

“He’s not going to even notice you’re here.” He held out the sleeve of Oreos, munching one. “See, they’re the kind with the little minty bits in them.”

Kurt accepted an Oreo with solemn thanks. He sat on Chris’s bed, waiting for him to say more, but it was oddly quiet in the room. They could hear Ian’s music leaking out around the edges of his headphones, and the crunching of cookies.

“So it occurs to me I wasn’t very clear about what I was saying the other day,” Chris said at last.

“Oh, no,” Kurt said. “You were very clear.”

“Yeah?” Chris took another cookie. “Maybe you should tell me what I said, and let me tell you if you heard me right.”

Kurt glanced up at Ian again, but his eyes remained closed. Even so, he dropped his voice to a murmur. “You questioned being able to be my friend unless I—unless we were also having sex.”

“Well, no. I question being able to be _Puck’s_ friend without also having sex. You and I seemed to do pretty well all year being friends without benefits.” He looked pointedly at Kurt. “Unless you decided I’m not really friend material after all.”

“No!” Kurt glanced at Chris, but his expression was opaque. “No, that’s not what I decided at all. I really _want_ to be your friend. Puck supplies enough ambiguity for me to deal with. I didn’t want there to be any between us.”

“You can just tell me you’re not attracted to me, Kurt.”

“Uh…” Kurt closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Look, I think I just said I was looking for _less_ ambiguity, but—that’s not what I was telling you when I said I wanted to just be friends.” He raised an eyebrow. “I _know_ you know exactly how hot you are.”

“I did. I was.” Chris rested his head in his hands. “Before Asher bumped me out of the number one slot.”

 _“Asher?”_ Kurt wanted to laugh. He put a hand on Chris’s back. “Are you seriously worried about him? You are the queen of Usdan.”

“No, Kurt, I used to be. Now, that’s _you.”_ Chris ran his hands through his hair with a frustrated sigh. “You’re the Queen, my real competition. Asher’s the new Prince Charming. And Puck’s the King of Hearts—and you’ve got them both sewn up.” He slumped. “I’m the goddamn court jester.”

Kurt let his hand slide off Chris’s back, his smile fading. “Chris…”

“See, and you didn’t even realize you were competing,” Chris said bitterly. “You’re in a class by yourself, Kurt. You came to Usdan and stole everybody’s thunder, and it’s my last year and—and I’m not even going to get a fucking _lead.”_

“This is ridiculous,” Kurt protested. “Chris, you’re Bryce’s intern. Everybody knows you’re the top actor here. Puck’s the only one you’re in competition with. I mean, Bryce practically chose _Earnest_ for you. Didn’t he? It’s so obvious.”

“Maybe he did. Except now it’s for _you._ You and your boyfriend. I told you nobody wants to see two guys on stage together? Well, when you have chemistry like _that…”_ He laughed. “The audience wouldn’t help but fall in love with the two of you.”

The exasperated sigh from the other bed caught them both off guard. Ian took off his headphones.

“Just stop talking, both of you.”

They stared at him. “You said—” Kurt began, to Chris.

“He lied,” Ian said flatly. “I’m the chaperone. And I’m staging an intervention because you’re both being _so stupid.”_ He waved his hand at the two of them. “There’s one role per gazillion actors out there. Does that mean the gazillion-minus-one should stop competing? No. You guys think it’s easy showing up here every year knowing I’ll never be in the top five? No. Do I still show up? Fuck yeah.” He pointed at Chris. “Because I’m a great actor. And so are you, Chris, and—according to Puck, who knows what he’s talking about—so are you, Kurt. Thursday we audition, and Friday we party, no matter who gets cast as whom. And then we’ll do it all again next year, some of us at camp, and some of us for real.” He glared at both of them until they looked away. “Okay? You ready to kiss and make up now?”

Kurt glanced at Chris quickly before glancing away again. “Uh—”

“It’s a _saying,”_ Ian moaned. “Can I put my headphones back on? Please?”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Chris appeared to be legitimately abashed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice subdued. “That was way too much whining from yours truly.”

“No, I know how it feels to suddenly stop being on top. It’s not pleasant.” Kurt touched his arm. “Would you believe it if I told you Asher’s even more scared than I am? Neither of us know the culture here, and it’s—well, it’s a _big_ jump from high school, even from Dalton. Yes, of course we want a chance to show what we can do. But we’re seriously not trying to take anything away from anybody.”

Chris took an enormous breath in and let it out on a groan. He ran his hands through his hair in exasperation.

“Okay. I’m okay. And you and me…” He sighed. “We’re okay too.”

Kurt nodded, and gave him a smile. “More than okay. Friends, remember?”

Chris smiled back. It was a nice smile, and not flirty at all. “You know how when you’ve been using one weapon forever, that’s the one you grab for every time? Oh, wait, you don’t play video games. Well, in any case, my weapon was sex. It’s hard to put it down.”

“Mine was fashion,” said Kurt. “It was pretty terrifying at Dalton when that weapon was taken away. But I promise you don’t need a weapon with me. Maybe with Puck.”

Chris snorted. “Girl, his weapon is _drama._ I don’t know how he’s going to get out of using that one.”

After giving him a quick, uncomplicated hug, Kurt headed back upstairs to his room, where he found Asher sitting on his extremely tidy bed, perusing the _Earnest_ script.

He looked up at Kurt. “You took off in a hurry after class. Everything okay?”

“I think so.” Kurt sat beside him instead of across from him. Asher didn’t seem to mind.“Chris and I resolved some things. He’s scared of you.”

He blinked. “Of— _me?”_

“He perceives you as a threat. Both of us. I think it’s hard for him to see other people getting the attention he was used to getting by default. But he agreed he doesn’t really want to compete, other than for roles. It’s not going to be cutthroat. Thanks to, um. To Ian.” Kurt laughed at Asher’s evolving confusion. “It’s complicated. Just trust me, okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Asher said, without hesitation.

Kurt grinned bigger. Without asking, he reached over and gave Asher a big hug. After a moment, Asher hugged him back.

“Thanks for trusting me,” said Kurt. “And for being—well, a _good guy._ There’s precious few of those in the world. I could use more of them in my life.”

“Hey.” Asher sounded pleased. “Yeah. Definitely.” When he sat back, he paused to wipe his eyes. “You, too, Kurt.”

“Okay.” Kurt reached over Asher and picked up the script, brandishing it. “So are you ready to tackle _Earnest?”_

Asher’s eyes twinkled. “I think it would be an admirable opportunity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jerome Robbins, the man after whom their workshop building is named, was an American stage and screen choreographer who did original choreography for a million shows, including West Side Story, The King and I, Gypsy, and Peter Pan.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter moves the story into a solid Mature rating at the beginning, and goes a little further toward Explicit at the end. -amy

Over the next few days, Kurt and Asher spent most of their free time reviewing both of the scripts for Bryce’s plays, analyzing each of the main characters’ fears and playing off them. Kurt found he had more insight into both Algernon and Romeo after watching another actor respond to their lines, rather than simply reading the lines on his own.

Asher had a remarkable knack for accents, not to mention a surprising capacity to deliver a straight line in a completely hilarious way. Every time Asher read Jack, Kurt would eventually end up breaking character with fits of giggles.

“I’m never going to be a character actor,” Asher told him, as he waited for Kurt to stop laughing. “I don’t have any kind of wit or guile. I have to rely on sincerity. At least I have something going for me.”

“Oh, please,” said Kurt. “You think _sincerity_ is your best feature? You do know everybody thinks you’re the best-looking boy in camp? Chris is just about beside himself with jealousy.”

Asher just shrugged. “That’s nice to hear, but you have to admit it doesn’t mean much when it comes to getting parts.”

“No, but—” Kurt paused, feeling embarrassed. “You definitely pull off the straight man act a lot better than he does. Or I do, for that matter.”

“Well, I’ve practiced it a lot, right? No, really.” Asher gestured at himself. “You think all I had to do was modify my T levels and lift some weights and bam, people accepted me as a guy? There’s a big difference between pretending to be somebody else and presenting as how you want to be seen. Although some of the skills are the same.” He considered Kurt. “You could pull off a straight role, if you wanted to.”

Memories of dressing up like Mellencamp and tasting Brittany’s flavored lip gloss made Kurt shudder. “Trust me, I’ve tried. I wouldn’t say I came anywhere close to succeeding.” He shook his head. “The fact is, I don’t _want_ to try to be perceived as straight. I want the rest of the world to be willing to see the characters I portray a different way. I mean, why _couldn’t_ Romeo be a flamingly gay man with a voice like Patti Labelle?”

“He could,” Asher said, smiling. “If you were directing the play.”

At breakfast on Wednesday morning, both Asher and Kurt were surprised when Chris abandoned Ian and Noah and Anthony and came to sit with them. Chris didn’t make a big deal about it, and neither did Asher, but it made Kurt feel good in a way that was hard to explain.

 _My friends are redrawing their territory lines,_ he later texted Finn.

_Like we all did after we joined Glee?_

He should have known Finn would get it. _Exactly like that. Except nobody’s throwing anybody into dumpsters. I’m at least hoping some of the posturing might diminish now._

Kurt found himself continuing to watch Noah closely. His stealth Noah-watching skills had been finely honed since middle school, but here, he didn’t have to be stealthy. It was made even easier by the fact that Noah clearly wanted to be noticed, to be _seen,_ in a way he never had in Lima, or even in Dayton. Not to mention Kurt obviously wasn’t the only boy doing the watching. It took him a few days of witnessing this before he decided how, and where, to approach Noah about it.

After lunch on Thursday, following a particularly raucous bout of teasing and flirting between Noah and Chris and a handful of the other senior campers, the crowd dispersed a little early, leaving Noah alone at his table.

Kurt quietly encouraged Asher and Bethany to head out with the rest. He remained where he was, seated alone at the table diagonally across from Noah. As Noah finished his soda, Kurt said, barely loud enough for Noah to hear him, “Are you in a hurry?”

Noah glanced immediately at Kurt. “Oh, so you’re talking to me today?”

“I wasn’t _not_ talking to you yesterday, or the day before,” Kurt said primly, rearranging the salt and pepper shakers. “I was giving you space. Do you have someplace else to be?”

Noah frowned. He squinted at the clock on the wall. “Well, we’ve got masterclass at one-thirty.”

“Okay if I come sit by you?”

Without waiting for an answer, Kurt stood up, then slid into the booth beside Noah, who looked more than a little startled.

“Sure,” Noah finally said, obviously too late. He blinked, focusing on Kurt’s sudden closeness. “What is it?”

Kurt let his eyes roam across the table. “You might recall Greg said it was okay for us to be together this summer.”

“Uh—”

“And you said, before we left home, that you weren’t sure if you could do it. I wasn’t sure if you meant you weren’t sure if you could be with _me_ , or if you could be with _anybody_.” He maintained a serious expression. “I think it was the latter. Am I correct?”

“Well…” Noah didn’t look bothered by the question, which told Kurt something about his current comfort level regarding all things gay. “Anybody meaning _another guy?_ Yeah. I wasn’t sure about that. Not then.”

“And now?”

Noah chuckled uneasily. “Well…” He shrugged, grinning. “It’s not as big a deal here.”

Kurt raised his eyebrows. “It’s more than that. I mean, you’re really the center of attention here, aren’t you?”

“It’s not like I’m not at home.”

“Well, no, but it’s different, isn’t it? All those other boys, looking at you. Wanting you.”

“Kurt,” Noah protested, “I _told_ you… I mean, you knew it was going to be like this—”

He placed a hand on Noah’s thigh, and smiled as Noah’s words were cut off by the catch in his breath. “No, it’s not a bad thing. I’m just wondering how it feels to you.”

Noah’s eyes darted between Kurt’s hand, which remained on his thigh, and his calm regard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, when I was at Dalton, I had the experience being watched by other boys for the first time. At first, I didn’t know what to do with it. Sometimes it was nice, and sometimes it was just distracting.” He gave Noah’s leg a little squeeze. “So how is it for you, here?”

Noah’s eyes were starting to look a little glassy. “It—it’s nice. I mean, I like it.”

“You do, hmm?”

“Uh…” His voice dropped to a low murmur. “You know. It’s a turn-on.”

“Mmm.” Kurt slid his hand up a little higher, not looking exactly where he was ending up, but he was definitely edging close enough to the seam of his jeans to feel the state Noah was in. He nodded as Noah made a little involuntary noise. “I thought it might be. No wonder you and Chris used to spend so much time getting each other off between classes.”

“That—we don’t do that anymore.” Noah shifted a little, whether to move closer to Kurt’s touch or away from it, he couldn’t tell. “You know we don’t.”

“No, I’m just saying… I understand why you might.” He leaned in until his lips were inches from Noah’s ear. “I like watching them watching you.”

“Fuck.” Noah’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

“And you’re not doing anything with anybody else.” He paused, bare centimeters from Noah’s neck. “And you have permission to do it with me. So what about it?”

Now Noah’s face was a little panicked. “Kurt, we have eleven minutes until class starts. You can’t just—”

“See, it was my understanding you didn’t care about getting to class on time.”

“I do _here!”_ But he stayed where he was as Kurt applied a little more pressure with his fingertips to the inside of his thigh, breathing rapidly. “Don’t you?”

“It depends.” He ghosted his fingers into the crease of Noah’s jeans, and had the satisfaction of feeling him respond under his touch. “How much do you care about everyone noticing just how turned on you are?”

Noah paused for quite a long time before answering. Then he spread his legs beneath the table, adjusting himself until Kurt’s hand was resting on the full, firm length of him, pulsing against his thigh.

“I’m okay with that,” Noah said. His voice was steady, if a little hoarse. “What about you?”

Kurt tilted his head. “What about me?”

The way Noah raised his eyebrow and smirked made him feel dizzy, but he maintained his decorum as Noah slid his own hand up to rest on Kurt’s leg. He didn’t go any further than that, but Kurt could feel his own body’s response.

“You think nobody’s going to notice your big boner?”

Kurt smiled. “They can try all they want. I have a tunic-length sweater in my messenger bag. You’re the only one who’s going to know it’s there.”

Noah let out a surprised laugh, his bravado slipping away into honest amusement. Kurt nudged his shoulder with his own.

“Anyway, it’s not like we _couldn’t_ take care of that in ten minutes.”

“Trust me, I remember last year,” Noah agreed, still grinning. “All those times in your car.”

Noah gave him a bigger nudge to stand up, and Kurt slid out to give him room. The bulge in his pants wasn’t subtle. Kurt avoided looking at it while he gathered his courage.

“I think we’ve moved beyond the handjob-in-the-Navigator stage,” he said. “But maybe, if you’re still interested after studio, I could arrange for some privacy in my room?”

Noah sputtered. “If I’m still _interested?”_

“I mean, if you think we should bother…” Kurt dodged Noah’s grab, unable to contain his giggles. “If you don’t have—hey!—anything else to do…”

Noah’s grasping arms shifted within seconds from a wrestling hold to an embrace. Kurt felt himself immediately melting into the strength and warmth of his body, and when Noah buried his face into Kurt’s hair, right in the middle of the cafeteria, he let out a relieved sigh.

“I’m sorry I was so shitty to you when we got here,” Noah murmured.

“You did tell me it might happen.” Kurt let his voice fall to a whisper. “So it’s not too weird? Having all these boys all over you?”

“It’s a little weird, yeah,” Noah whispered back. “But every summer, it’s a little less weird. And this summer, it feels… good. Really fucking good.”

Kurt peered over Noah’s shoulder into the relative quiet of the vacated lunchroom. “Now everybody’s going to stare at _us,_ aren’t they?”

“Yeah.” Noah pulled back, watching his face with a solemn expression. “If we do this in front of them, for sure. You okay with that?”

“Yes. I am. Are you?”

“Hell, yeah,” Noah said fervently. “And yeah, I’m still _interested_ in whatever you want to offer, but you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

Kurt smiled coyly as he drew up beside him, taking his arm. “You sure you want me to tell you the details right now?” 

“Uh…” Noah’s face, already russet, went a shade darker, and he let out a quiet laugh. “Let’s save it for after class.”

Regardless of the length of his sweater, Kurt was pretty sure nobody in their masterclass could miss the smoldering looks he and Noah were giving one another across the room. By break time, Chris was practically beaming at them, bouncing on the toes of his shoes.

“Looks like _somebody_ made up,” he cooed to Noah.

Noah didn’t even roll his eyes. He simply walked over to stand behind Kurt, and placed both hands on his shoulders. Kurt leaned back into his touch, trying to calm his racing heart, and let Noah enfold him in his arms.

“Easy enough so far,” Noah murmured. Kurt took a long breath, and nodded.

He caught Trinity smiling at them, but nobody else said anything until after class, when Bryce stopped them on the way out the door.

“A new development, Noah?” he asked, nodding to their joined hands.

Noah squeezed Kurt’s hand. “Not exactly.”

“Well.” Bryce’s lined face grew stern. “I trust this won’t affect your work? Either of you?”

“No,” they chorused. “It won’t,” Kurt added.

He nodded. “And you’re both planning to audition this evening, are you? How will that play out if one of you is cast and the other is not?”

“That’s part of being in theater,” Kurt said. “Right? You can’t tell me boyfriends never audition for the same show?”

Bryce twitched an eyebrow. “Mmm. Perhaps I’m saying when they do, it frequently ends badly.”

Noah grinned, and said:

_“My mind misgives  
_ _Some consequence yet hanging in the stars  
_ _Shall bitterly begin his fearful date  
_ _With this night's revels.”_

This time Bryce placed a hand on Noah’s shoulder as he steered him out of the room ahead of him. “You think I am joking, young Noah. Or perhaps you think Shakespeare was, when he wrote those words for Romeo to speak?” He sighed heavily, gesturing toward the door. “On, lusty gentlemen.”

Kurt and Noah obliged, walking as quickly as seemed feasible toward Laura Keene, still holding hands.

“Nobody cared,” Kurt marveled. He held up Noah’s hand in dizzy exultation. “Except for Bryce.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not gonna question it.” Noah wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were shiny, gazing at Kurt. “Where to now?”

He felt like he might rise up into the air. “I’m sure Asher would give us time alone. Or—who’s your roommate, anyway?”

“Peyton, the sophomore with the buzzcut? He’d probably do whatever I asked him to, but I’d rather save that favor for when I really need it.”

Kurt took out his phone as they walked, slowly typing a text to Asher. _You think I could arrange for some privacy in our room?_

“Kurt,” Noah said, quietly.

He sounded urgent enough that Kurt looked up in alarm, but Noah just pulled him by the hand to stand in the shadow of the nearby building.

“What is it?”

“You really want this?” Noah searched Kurt’s face as he put his arms around his waist. “This—whole thing? Here, with me?”

“Yes,” Kurt said, laughing, partly in excitement and partly in exasperation. _“Yes,_ haven’t I told you enough times that I do?”

“I thought, maybe, that you and Asher…” He trailed off, waiting for Kurt to respond.

“Asher has been a complete gentleman,” Kurt insisted. He placed a hand in the center of Noah’s chest, reveling in the warmth of him beneath his shirt. “And we’re not doing anything. I’m here, with you, and that’s what I want.”

Kurt didn’t even think if it might be a mistake; he just leaned in and kissed him. For that first moment, Noah was very still all over. Then a whine ripped from his throat, and he kissed him back, holding Kurt’s face in his hands. By the time either of them did anything to put a halt to it, Kurt had him up against the building, shoving him into the prickly wooden siding.

“Your room,” Noah gasped, as Kurt bit his earlobe. “Fuck. Kurt.”

“Yeah—okay. Yeah.” Kurt paused, took a breath, and dug out his phone. “No response yet. We can just… come on.”

He moved with more purpose now, not taking Noah’s hand, but assuming he would follow as he walked the rest of the way to Laura Keene. His head was full of images, and still more worries— _did I even think to bring condoms? What if everybody notices Noah disappearing into my room? Will Asher be mad if I lock him out?—_ but he decided he was doing a pretty good job of pushing them all away and focusing on his goal, on Noah, beside him at last.

Kurt turned around and smiled at him, feeling dizzy with possibility. Noah looked a little flushed, but otherwise calm. When Kurt reached for his hand, he didn’t pull away. They took the stairs two at a time, and Noah paused on the landing to kiss him again.

Asher and Bethany ran into them in the hallway on the way toward their room. When they all reached the doorway at the same time, they halted.

“Hey.” Kurt pressed his lips together, not looking at Noah, and gestured at the door. “Um—did you need anything in there…?”

“Oh. Oh! Let me just—” Asher’s eyes were wide, but he just ducked in quickly and came out clutching his well-marked scripts. “Bethany, let’s… uh, we’ll go over these passages in your room.”

“See you at dinner,” Kurt told him.

Asher nodded, his eyebrows high on his forehead as he departed. Kurt found it impossible not to smile. He waited for Noah to enter, then firmly closed the door behind them, locking it.

He let out a huge sigh of relief. “God. That was embarrassing.”

“Like nobody else here is having sex?” Noah grinned, pulling him close. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

They stopped talking for a few minutes as their clothing came off. As soon as Kurt unbuttoned his shirt, Noah’s hands were on him, running his palms over all available surfaces: his shoulders, his arms, the planes of his stomach and chest. Kurt was keenly aware of Noah’s eyes hovering on every action he made, each catch in his breath, the fervor with which he kissed him.

“Nice,” Noah murmured, tracing the contours of Kurt’s developing biceps. Kurt laughed, shaking his head, but Noah’s eyes gleamed with pleasure. “Seriously. Flex for me.”

“I’m not going to do that!” Kurt leaned his forehead on Noah’s neck as Noah began unbuttoning his jeans. “Um—Noah. _Noah._ ” He gripped Noah’s shoulders and gave him a little shake, finally capturing his attention. “I don’t think I have any condoms.”

“So we won’t use them.” Noah returned his lips to Kurt’s jaw, undeterred from helping Kurt shed his jeans. “You’re the last fuck I had, dude or chick.”

Kurt sat down heavily on his bed. “Oh.”

“Or we won’t do that,” Noah amended quickly. He tugged the last leg of his jeans off. “We can do other stuff, if that’s too edgy.”

“Not, uh. Maybe not?” Kurt ran his hands over his face. “God. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no.” Noah crouched down in front of Kurt and gathered both of hands in his own as he sought his gaze. “I’m not gonna push you. It’s not like you can’t get me off sixteen other ways.”

Kurt laughed again. He shrugged, feeling absurdly shy to be naked in front of Noah. “I don’t think it’s going to take more than one other way.”

“Right. And if you’re not telling me this is the last time we get to do this, I’ll come prepared next time.” Noah smiled encouragingly, waiting for Kurt to nod before moving in to kiss him, kneeling there between his legs.

Kurt spread them wider as Noah gripped him, and let his eyes close, relaxing into the lazy pace of Noah’s strokes. When Kurt reached for the bulge in Noah’s shorts, Noah nudged his hand away.

“Let me do this,” he insisted. “I want to watch you.”

He didn’t have the capacity to resist, not with Noah’s taut body nestled so close. Noah licked his fingers, resting them over the opening between his legs and applying gentle, firm pressure. When Kurt’s moans escalated, Noah kissed him again, echoing his noises.

“So fucking hot,” Noah whispered. His eyes remained on Kurt’s face as he jerked him slowly. “There’s no one like you, babe.”

It would have been impossible to hold out under the barrage of stimulation, even if he’d wanted to. Kurt grasped for any part of Noah, holding on in desperation, squirming and gasping as he came.

He didn’t even have an opportunity to reach for a tissue to clean up before Noah was shedding his shorts onto the linoleum floor and climbing on top of him. Kurt clutched at his hips, pulling him in against his slippery abdomen, and met him thrust for thrust. Whatever beautiful words Noah might have to say, in that moment, Kurt didn’t need to hear them; he just lost himself in the brilliant sensation of Noah’s body cradled in the embrace of his legs and arms, and the tug and slide of skin on skin. But eventually, worry overtook his ability to relax.

“What can I do?” he asked.

“Touch me.”

Kurt tucked a hand between them. It wasn’t specific enough for Kurt to be certain he was doing what Noah wanted, but Noah’s groans didn’t seem to be ones of frustration.

“Is this okay?” He hoped he didn’t sound too anxious. 

Noah raised himself up, kneeling above him. He looked more amused than annoyed. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No?”

“Kurt…” He shook his head. “Didn’t I just tell you how hot you are?”

Kurt frowned. “That doesn’t mean I’m doing what you want.”

“What’s this about? You think you’re not good enough or something? Compared to who?”

“Whom,” Kurt retorted. He sighed. “It’s—I’m sorry. It’s stupid.”

“It’s totally stupid,” Noah agreed. He sat back on his heels, gazing down at Kurt. “Do you want to stop?”

“No!” Kurt stared unhappily at Noah’s erection, bobbing in the air between them. The space between them seemed abruptly too large to reach across, while the fluid on his stomach was quickly drying into a tacky mess. “I want to know… what you want.”

Noah’s brow drew into a perplexed line. “You were doing it.”

“No, I mean what you _really_ want. I said no to something and—and I know you want other things, that I haven’t been willing to do, and—I don’t want it to just be okay. I want to be good at it. For you.”

“You think I’m gonna lie and tell you it’s good enough when it’s not?” Noah looked almost offended. “I didn’t even do that with chicks. I’m sure as hell not going to do it with you.”

“But you _want_ me inside you,” Kurt said, trying not to sound angry. “You want fingers or—or other things. But you won’t ask me for them?”

“I’m starting slow.” Noah inspected him curiously. “ _Slowly._ There’re limits to what we can do without lube. I figured you’d rather not with the messy. That’s all. It’s not because I don’t want it.”

“Maybe I don’t care.” He knew he sounded needlessly stubborn. Part of his brain was already exasperated enough with himself to yell _shut up, you idiot_ into his own head, but at this point he didn’t think he could. “About the messy. Maybe I want it anyway.”

Noah threw up his hands. “Well, fuck, Kurt, who’s stopping you?”

He thought later he hadn’t planned for it to happen exactly like this, or even thought through any of the possible repercussions. If he had paused to think, in fact, or if Noah hadn’t been poised exactly where he was, he probably wouldn’t have done it at all. In the moment, he wasn’t feeling daring or passionate or anything much other than contemptuous, but that was plenty of fuel to drive him forward to take Noah into his mouth.

The noise Noah made was something like a yelp. He toppled backward half-onto the bed, allowing Kurt to advance, crouch over him and, with a glare, resume his actions.

“Kurt—” Noah moaned. He struggled up onto one elbow, barely avoiding banging his head on the wooden bed frame in the process.

In the past, when he’d had the opportunity to think about it, Kurt had always assumed engaging in giving a blowjob would be somewhat awkward, not to mention smelly. Now, at least at the moment, it wasn’t either of those things. He’d certainly never imagined the sense of control, the _power_ he would feel while providing it. With each thrust of his head, each flick of his tongue, he exacted a devastating, escalating response from Noah that left him breathless, and more than a little turned on all over again.

“Kurt,” Noah said again, and this time with urgency.

Kurt had a reasonably good guess about what that meant, and plenty of time to decide what to do about it, but the fact that Noah wasn’t pushing him away told him something about what he really wanted. It was a heady experience to be up close and personal, to feel all the minute changes, the shudders and rhythmic pulses of Noah’s body, as he came. By the end of it, Kurt felt more smug than he remembered feeling in months, possibly more than he ever had in his life.

He let Noah slide out of his mouth and rebound against his taut stomach with a wet _slap._ Then he moved to lie beside him on the narrow bed, gazing down at Noah’s stunned face with a distinct sense of satisfaction.

“Nobody was stopping me,” he said. “But next time, you’d better be clear with me if you don’t want that, because I have a feeling I’ll be expecting to do it again.”

“Holy shit, Kurt.” Noah’s voice was hoarse and reverent.

Kurt gave his shoulder a playful nudge. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me it was that much fun?”

“Pretty sure I did.” Noah’s face didn’t change, except that his smile grew. “Kurt, I hope you don’t think I expect you to be, like, some fabulous performer in bed. I mean—don’t get me wrong, that was fucking amazing. You can seriously do that any time. But honestly, I like everything we’ve done together.”

Kurt rested his head on Noah’s bare shoulder. “I think… I was just feeling a little outclassed. You’re the one with all the experience, right?”

“Not when it comes to things that matter.” His voice was quiet. Kurt felt the pressure of his lips as he leaned in to kiss his forehead. “I’m kind of an amateur at actual relationships. But Greg’s teaching me a lot.” He paused. “You are too, you know?”

The smile overtook him before he could stop it. “Well, maybe I wanted to surprise you.”

“Trust me, you did.” Noah grinned back. “Method or no, I am completely convinced _this_ is the best way to prepare for an audition.”


	10. Chapter 10

Kurt apparently wasn’t the only one who woke up early the day after auditions. When he opened his eyes, it was still dark, but he could see the shape of Asher stretched out on the floor, curved over his yoga mat.

“I’m pretty sure my body doesn’t do that,” Kurt said into the dim room.

Asher chuckled. “Advantage of the hips I was born with, I think. And trust me, I know plenty of dancers at Dalton who make me look like a freaking couch potato.”

He sat up, carefully combing his hair out of his face. “Chris said you’re a great dancer.”

“It’s hard to grow up with older sisters and not want to wear their ballet slippers. I mostly like modern dance, but I’ve been _en pointe_ since I was fourteen.” He cracked his neck. “Maybe someday I’ll be in the chorus line.”

Kurt let out a derisive laugh. “After the audition you gave yesterday, I don’t think so. You’re going to be front and center.”

“Look who’s talking.” Asher gave him an admiring grin. “You and Puck both. I think Trinity said they’ll be posting the cast lists before lunch.”

“We’ll have to wait until after class,” Kurt agreed. “And, really, there’s always a chance we won’t get a part at all. But…” He turned his smile on Asher, who laughed. “Yeah. I think we did well.”

“Maybe you had some extra inspiration?”

“Maybe I did.”

He hoped it was still too dark for Asher to see his blush. Thinking about what he’d done yesterday was far more embarrassing than the way he’d felt _during_ the things he’d done with—or, rather, _to_ Noah. There was no denying they’d both been on top of their game at the audition after the frenzied confrontation on Kurt’s bed.

“Well, I have nothing to blame it on but the hard work we did this week,” said Asher. “That was fun. Even if we don’t get parts in these shows, maybe we can choose another script to take apart?”

Kurt nodded, feeling warm inside. “I’d love that.”

There were more people at breakfast than usual. After Kurt sat down beside Chris, they were joined shortly thereafter by Ian, Trinity, and the tall girl, Grace, Noah’s partner during the fear exercise.

“I couldn’t sleep at all last night,” she confided in the table at large.

Chris patted her arm. “You don’t have anything to worry about. You wanted Lady Bracknell, right?”

“That’s what I was hoping for, but if the rumors I heard are true, I’m not a hundred percent sure I’m even eligible for that role.”

Kurt traded looks with Asher. “What rumors?” he said slowly.

“About gender bending the casts.” She looked meaningfully at Trinity, who held up her hands in denial.

Chris just looked annoyed. “Why didn’t _I_ hear any rumors?”

“Which cast?” Asher said. “Do you mean both of them?”

“Seriously,” Chris went on to the table at large, “I’m an intern too, right? I should know stuff first. I think it should be a rule.”

“Since when do you ever know _anything_ first?”

Kurt swiveled in his seat to find Noah standing behind him, holding a tray bearing three cartons of milk and two bowls of cereal. He sounded amused. When Chris gave him a withering look, Noah blew him a kiss.

“You want me to move?” Asher offered to Noah, half rising from his seat beside Kurt, but Noah was already heading for the empty spot beside Grace.

“I’ll tell you, if I thought Bryce was going to gender-bend anything, I would have been the first one up there for Bracknell.” Noah tugged open a carton of milk with his teeth. “Bedford blazed the way. Now everybody wants to play the old lady parts.”

“So much for being cast in one of Mr. Coleman’s shows,” said Grace glumly, tossing her spoon on the table. “I knew the idea of him choosing productions with actual female roles in it was too good to be true.”

“Bryce has a habit of doing shows with mostly male roles,” Ian to Asher, who still looked confused.

“Not to mention pushing the envelope about what’s appropriate for high school,” Bethany agreed. “I think after _Glengarry Glen Ross_ he got into a little trouble with the camp staff.”

“He had our parents all sign waivers before we did it,” said Ian, shrugging. “I don’t know what the big deal was.”

“You’d be an excellent Lady Bracknell,” Kurt said to Noah, who smirked.

“I do not approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance,” he said, toasting Kurt with his milk. Kurt could tell he was employing the exact stern, querulous intonation Brian Bedford had used at the Roundabout last spring. “Ignorance is like a delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone.”

Grace just about snorted her coffee, but the rest of them were apparently used to Noah by now. Even Asher only grinned bigger, although he appeared worried.

“He wouldn’t just _not_ cast all the girls at camp,” he said to Trinity. “Would he? Or—are you saying he might swap _all_ the roles?”

“I know nothing,” she swore, zipping her lip and locking it with an imaginary key. “Wait and see.”

Kurt waited for Noah to finish his cereal, keeping his hands to himself, but Noah immediately leaned in to kiss his cheek after clearing his dishes. Kurt didn’t try to hide his pleased smile.

“Good morning,” he murmured, turning to hug him. “You didn’t reply to my text after the audition.”

Noah’s face went a little vague. “I don’t actually remember much about last night. Something about a fucking awesome blowjob?”

“That was before the audition. Unless you got a better one later.”

“Doubt it. Yeah, I’m pretty sure my after audition activities consisted of a bottle of tequila in Chris’s room.” He bumped Kurt’s shoulder with his own. “Which, in case you’re wondering, involved no removal of clothing.”

“Did I even ask?” Kurt said loftily.

Five minutes after he left breakfast, Kurt received a reply from Noah to his last-night text, asking: _Were we as good as I think we were?_

 _If you think we were fucking amazing,_ Noah replied, _yeah. I think we were._

 _I’m pretty sure my ego has never been this inflated,_ Kurt told him. _Is this how you feel all the time?_

There was no answer for some time, and Kurt didn’t look at his phone again for another hour, after stage combat class was over.

 _Maybe only after having sex with somebody as hot as you?_ Then, after six minutes, Noah had added, _I won’t look at the cast list until you get there, if you want._

_No, that’s okay. You get to look first if you get there first, but don’t spoil it for me._

He managed to sustain his focus well enough through improv, which was as terrifying as ever, and script analysis, which continued to be disappointing. The analysis he’d done on his own with Asher over the past three days had been far more satisfying.

By the time their third class concluded, half of the senior campers were already crowded into the hallway, eyeing the empty bulletin board under the headings _Romeo & Juliet Cast _and _Importance of Being Earnest Cast._ Noah was positioned right up front; Kurt could see the curve of his shaven head.

“I don’t know why they don’t just text the cast lists to us,” Kurt said to Chris, who’d moved to stand beside him.

Chris executed a dramatic shrug. “Because Bryce thinks we should have the full experience. This is what they all did when they were young actors.”

Kurt imagined a young Aaron Puckerman, waiting around following auditions at the Dayton Opera House, talking with friends, joking, anything to keep his mind off the long wait ahead of them. He smiled. “I suppose it’s not so bad.”

“So…” Chris didn’t look at him, but he leaned in a little closer as he dropped his voice. “I hear somebody decided certain acts weren’t off the menu after all?”

“God.” Kurt put his hands over his ears as Chris dissolved into giggles. “The _menu,_ really? That boy has no filter.”

“Not after four tequila shots he doesn’t.”

Kurt let out a sigh, straightening his chin. “It was… not what I expected. In all the best ways.”

“Well, you sure blew his ever-loving mind. In addition to blowing other things. He has a history of waxing eloquent about you under the effect of alcohol, but he’s never been quite so surprised. Or _detailed.”_

“God,” Kurt moaned again, cringing into the shelter of his hand. “Maybe, if I’m quick, I can catch an early bus back to Ohio…”

The buzzing crowd parted to let Trinity through. She tacked two pieces of paper to the bulletin board with a stapler, then extracted herself from the press of the throng. Kurt watched each camper’s tense face as they approached the board. Some registered joy or surprise, while most showed resignation or disappointment.

 _That’s the way it is in theater,_ he reminded himself, edging closer, with Chris right beside him. _One part per gazillion actors._

And then he saw Noah’s stunned expression, which quickly grew stormy. Noah shot a look toward him—not at Kurt, but at Asher—before turning his glare on Chris.

“Uh-oh,” Chris muttered. “So much for satisfied.”

The space in front of the list for _Earnest_ was soon deserted, while the crowd around _Romeo & Juliet_ was positively buzzing. With trepidation, Kurt approached the board. The first name on the _Earnest_ cast list was Asher’s, for Jack, followed by Noah’s, for Algernon.

It was a muted pleasure. He quickly skimmed the rest of the list, noting Grace as Lady Bracknell, Ian as Reverend Chausible, and Trinity as Cecily. His own name did not appear. Asher was on the other side of the room, talking with Grace, and both seemed pleased. Nothing appeared to be out of place.

“No way,” Kurt heard Anthony say. He sounded legitimately shocked.

Kurt moved into place beside Anthony, still too far behind other campers to read the board. “Do I want to know?”

“Kurt.” Anthony took his hand and shook it, smiling. “I honestly don’t know how you’re going to feel about this, but… congratulations.”

After that, Kurt just waited where he was and let the rest of the gawkers obscure the cast list. He swallowed and took a hesitant step forward, looking across the room at Noah’s increasingly outraged expression.

“You go,” he urged Chris, but Chris grabbed his hand and hauled him through the gap in the crowd to stand directly before the board.

Chris put a hand on the board, touching his own name beside _Romeo_. He blanched and took a step back. “Whoa.”

“You can’t do that to him,” he heard Noah say angrily, and Trinity’s muffled response.

Kurt still hadn’t made it past _Chris got Romeo,_ but he staggered a little as Asher collided with him.

“Kurt!” he shouted, with a brilliant smile. “I’m Jack!”

“Now, be polite to the lady,” drawled Chris.

Kurt watched Asher flinch. He turned to Chris, ready to chew him out for misgendering Asher—and then he saw Chris’s imperative finger, pointing back to the cast list. The words he was indicating made it clear Chris hadn’t been talking about Asher at all.

_Juliet—Kurt Hummel_

“Oh,” Kurt whispered. “Oh, no.”

Into his field of vision, Anthony’s smiling face appeared, blocking the image of the cast list with that improbable listing.

“You’re going to be _great,_ Kurt,” Anthony said with conviction. “Don’t be worried. You’re going to play the hell out of that role.”

Kurt looked over at Asher’s conflicted face, then at Chris’s apologetic one. He scanned the room for Noah, but he appeared to have vanished.

The sensation in his stomach was not unlike the one he’d had at junior prom, upon discovering he’d been elected Queen. He wondered if he was about to pass out.

“Come on,” said Chris, sounding resolute. He tugged on Kurt’s arm. When Kurt looked around desperately for Asher, Chris sighed and added, “Okay, he can come too.”

With numb, uncoordinated steps, Kurt stumbled down the hall toward the exit, sandwiched by Chris ahead and Asher behind. He didn’t even think about where Chris might be taking them until they reached the front steps of Jerome Robbins.

“Why would he do that?” Kurt demanded. Asher’s pitying sigh prompted the first pricking of angry tears behind his eyes. “Why would Bryce do that to me?”

“He wouldn’t,” said Chris. He sounded resolute. “Not the way you mean. That’s why we’re going to talk to him.”

“No,” he protested, but Asher put a hand on his shoulder, and they walked through the hallway together to Bryce’s office door.

Even with the door closed all the way, they could hear Noah’s angry baritone on the other side, followed by Trinity’s soft soprano and Bryce’s dry, well-modulated tenor. Kurt pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, seeing too clearly the outline of _Juliet—Kurt Hummel_ imprinted on his retina.

Chris knocked. There was a pause in the conversation, and then the door opened to reveal Trinity’s conflicted face.

“Kind of a bad time,” she murmured, looking back and forth between Kurt and Chris.

“You think?” Chris made to enter the office anyway, but she held up a hand.

“Give them five minutes. If they can get to a point where Puck understands, it’ll be easier to explain without trying to stop him from punching Bryce in the nose.”

Kurt sat down in the hallway to wait. Asher joined him, but Chris stayed standing, pacing back and forth in front of the door like a lioness guarding her den.

“Congratulations,” Asher said quietly. “Um—to you, Chris. For Romeo.”

Chris blew out a heavy breath, putting a hand to his forehead. “Yeah. Thanks.” After a pause, he added, “You, too, for Worthing.”

Asher nodded. “I really didn’t expect a lead. It’s my first year here.”

“No, I saw your audition. You’re perfect for Jack.” He gave Kurt a wan smile. “Whatever that actually means. My assumptions about what’s perfect are clearly fucked up.” 

Kurt leaned his chin on his knees. “When we talked with Bryce last spring in Central Park, he told Puck he was planning to do _Earnest_. Puck was very clear that he thought you should get Algernon, Chris, and that he would likely be playing Jack? And Bryce said something like, _You’ll grant me the courtesy of permitting me to cast my own show.”_

Chris snorted. Asher just looked thoughtful.

“I wonder if this is related to Oscar Wilde’s theory about Shakespeare’s Fair Youth?” 

Kurt shook his head. “I’m not familiar with it.”

“He thought Shakespeare was writing his love poetry about a male actor who played a bunch of his female roles,” said Chris, “including Juliet. Wilde wrote a really weird novel about it. Seriously, I think most people think it’s true, now.”

The door to Bryce’s office opened. Bryce stood in the doorway, gazing down at Kurt.

“Are _you_ here to contest my casting choices, too?” Bryce said.

“No,” Kurt said quickly. Then, seeing Chris’s expression, he added, “Not exactly.”

Bryce nodded. “Perhaps you would allow me to justify my decision.”

Kurt glanced nervously behind Bryce at Noah, who was standing there, glowering. “I was just… surprised. To be cast as—as a girl.”

“Kurt is not a girl,” Noah snapped.

Bryce’s eyebrows went up. “That was my assumption. Nor do I expect him to play one.”

There was a brief, confused silence.

“You did cast me as Juliet?” Kurt ventured.

“In a manner of speaking, yes. The part, as written, albeit with pronoun changes, will need very little modification.” Bryce tilted his head. “The name, certainly. I thought ‘Julian’ would suffice. Now, if we’re going to have this conversation, I must insist on sitting down, as my knees no longer take kindly to loitering. If you please?”

He ushered them into his office with brisk courtesy. Trinity sat on the edge of Bryce’s desk, while the others made a semi-circle with chairs and Bryce took his seat behind it. Asher looked less overwhelmed than Kurt himself felt, although he wouldn’t have put it past Asher to be good at disguising his feelings.

Noah hovered nearby Kurt, not exactly touching him, but close enough for Kurt to feel the weight of his displeasure. Even directed away from him, it was palpable.

“I won’t bore you with details of my history surrounding this particular tragedy,” Bryce began. “Suffice it to say it is not my favorite, but it is the favorite of many of our most generous donors, and performing it provides a certain predictable income for Usdan’s summer program. So I will ask you not to assume anything about my motivation for casting _Romeo and Juliet_ this way, other than to breathe new life into a set of tired old tropes.” He raised both eyebrows and regarded them all at once. “Agreed?”

There was a mumbled affirmative. Even Noah crossed his arms and gave a half-shrug, which was more of an answer than Kurt would have expected from him.

“On the one hand, there are those in the theater community who expect the Bard’s work to be done, as Juliet says, by the book. On the other, those who argue that Shakespeare was meant to be performed for the masses, and as such it should be done in the vernacular.” Bryce held out both gnarled hands, his fingers cupped like he was cradling a globe. “I favor an approach in which the setting is malleable, but the original language is preserved. In this case, I anticipate a contemporary setting would be the most effective way to convey the tragic play. In such a setting, one must adjust certain other factors to maintain believability.”

“Like making Juliet a guy. And queer.” Chris sounded flippant, and the look on his face was one of anticipation. He no longer appeared to be upset. “Romeo and Julian.”

“As you say. You have learned in our classes that fear is a great driving force, not only for the character, but also for the actor who portrays him. All four of our main characters this year are motivated by fear.” Bryce gestured at Chris with his chin. “As are, to some degree, each of you. You will expect, therefore, that I have put a great deal of consideration into choosing each of you for these particular roles.”

Noah’s eyebrows drew down as he looked at Asher with skepticism, but he said nothing. Kurt noticed he couldn’t stop glaring at Chris.

Chris chuckled and shook his head. _“These_ two are the guys you want to worry about.” He pointed at Asher and Kurt. “They’re the ones who walked out after being cast in an all-white production of _Twelve Angry Men.”_

“Is that right?” Bryce considered each of them in turn. It was an effort for Kurt not to shrink under his appraising stare. “I do imagine you have the right to reject any role you like. I only ask you do it for the right reason.”

“Meaning?” Noah said.

“I will tell you what isn’t the right reason.” Bryce turned his eyes on the closed door. They all turned to look, too, even though nothing was there. He pointed at it. “Never quit out of fear.”

“But Kurt’s the one who’s at risk,” Noah protested. “He’s the one who can’t afford to take this kind of—”

“He’s the one who can’t afford _not_ to.” Bryce’s interjection carried across the small room, silencing them, without his voice being one iota louder. He sounded reproving, but he gazed on Kurt with kindness. “Young actors without experience must take risks, or they stand no chance of success in the business. Failure counts for little at this point; shame is irrelevant.” He smiled. “Experience is merely the name men give to their mistakes.”

 _“The Picture of Dorian Gray,"_ said Noah. 

Bryce nodded gravely. “Another of Oscar Wilde’s plays. It’s true that Wilde had much to say about flouting expectations. Although, as you will also learn, the greatest value of his work is found in what he _did not_ say. We will examine that more in depth as you and the rest of the cast begins script analysis of _Earnest._ In many ways, it’s as much of a tragedy as anything Shakespeare ever wrote.”

Kurt could see Noah was becoming more and more agitated as Bryce spoke. The next time he moved within touching distance, Kurt reached out to grab Noah’s hand, and Noah stopped, staring at their tangled fingers in consternation.

“It’s okay,” Kurt said quietly, tugging him closer. “Playing Juliet. Julian. Whatever. It’s—I’m okay.” He looked into Noah’s troubled eyes. “I want to do it.”

“Yeah.” Noah blew out a breath. “That doesn’t mean you should.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think it’s fair to say we have a lot to talk about,” said Trinity. “How about we all think it over, and we’ll talk more tomorrow?”

Her tone sounded very reasonable, but as Kurt was moving to file out of Bryce’s office, she sighed, touching his arm.

“He should have told you,” she said. “Before he cast you like that. You didn’t even know it was an option. It wasn’t fair to blindside you.”

“I think…” Kurt watched Noah leave without Chris. “It’s a lead, and I should take it, no matter what.”

She nodded. “And?”

“And…” He laughed uneasily. “It’s not what I expected, but… that’s life, right?”

“Right,” she agreed. “For what it’s worth, I thought your audition was really good. I’m completely sure you can take this role and make it your own.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning in this chapter for more mature content. -amy

After dinner, upon returning to their room, Kurt and Asher found themselves beset by a dozen other campers from the cast of _Romeo & Juliet_. Most were seniors and juniors, including Anthony, who would be playing the brash Mercutio, Curtis, a tall senior who had been cast as Lord Capulet, Bethany as Julian’s nurse, and Grace as Lady Capulet. Ian, cast as Friar Laurence, was not there.

There was also a small group of underclassmen, including one sophomore Kurt hadn’t yet met, Oliver, who was playing the role of Benvolio. Also among them was Noah’s roommate Peyton, who’d been cast in the small part of Gregory. He, like a quarter of the rest of camp, appeared to have a major crush on Asher.

Bethany grasped his arm in excitement. “Were you so surprised?” 

“I’m a little surprised by how many people can fit into this room,” Kurt muttered, quickly tidying up his area. Of course, Asher’s side was already immaculate.

“What’s it like to work with Mr. Coleman?” Peyton wanted to know, with a little shiver. “I don’t know if I really want to come back as a senior if it means I have to take his masterclass. He’s creepy.”

“He has a lot of opinions,” Asher replied, smiling. “I think _Earnest_ will be a challenging show, but I also think I’m going to learn a lot from him.”

Noah himself was nowhere to be seen. The fact that Chris was absent as well gave Kurt some idea of where he might be. He sent him a text without a lot of hope of receiving a reply: _Party in my room, apparently. You and Chris are welcome to come over, as long as you finish drinking before you show up._

He also sent a group text to Finn, his dad, and Carole. _Guess who got a lead role?_

 _Puck?_ Finn replied, accompanied by _Congratulations!_ from Carole.

 _Smartass,_ Kurt wrote back. _And yes, he did, too. He’s Algernon in Earnest, which is the role Bryce told him he would get. And my roommate Asher is Jack, and Chris is playing Romeo._

 _What part did you get?_ Carole asked.

 _Dude, didn’t you say those were pretty much all the lead roles?_ said Finn.

 _Well,_ Kurt began typing, and paused. Noah was in the doorway, his arms crossed, staring at him. He wasn’t glaring, exactly, but he wasn’t smiling, either.

“Carole says congratulations,” Kurt said.

Noah gestured at the phone. “You gonna tell them what Bryce did?”

“Of course. Yes.” Kurt tipped his chin up. “ _You_ didn’t say congratulations to me.”

“I told you how fucking awesome you were at the audition.” Noah sneered. “But you’re not gonna get me to say I’m happy about the casting.”

He absorbed the hurt from Noah’s blow and shrugged. “What about the part he gave you? It’s not the one you wanted, either, was it?”

“Not really about what I want, is it?”

Kurt narrowed his eyes. “Is that even an answer?”

“Hey,” called Asher from across the room, accepting a two-liter bottle of soda from Grace. “Guys. Trinity called a truce, okay? This room is Switzerland.”

“No, it’s the Netherlands.” Chris made a not-so-subtle gesture as he entered the room around Noah. “Now kiss him and make up.”

There was general approving laughter in response. Kurt watched Noah flush, whether in shame or anger or something else, he couldn’t be sure.

“I don’t really want to fight,” Kurt told him. “Can’t we just be happy we both got lead parts?”

He reached out a hand, not to shake, but palm-up, an offering. Noah stared at it for a long moment. Then, without warning, he reached out and gathered it into his two hands, bringing the palm to his lips. Kurt’s breath stopped for a moment. The catcalls from the rest of the room faded into the background as Noah’s focused presence overwhelmed his senses. 

“I am happy for you.” Noah moved in closer, the stubble on his cheek brushing Kurt’s as his lips paused beside his ear. His voice dropped to a low murmur. _“Indeed the top of admiration, worth / What’s dearest to th' world!”_

Kurt felt the heat of Noah’s body first, and his erection shortly thereafter. Kurt made himself stay very still within the cradle of Noah’s arms.

“What’s that from?” he managed to ask.

 _“The Tempest.”_ Noah cupped Kurt’s head in one hand, tipping it back. He still wasn’t exactly smiling, but there was no mistaking the intensity in his gaze. _“You… O you, / So perfect and so peerless, are created / Of every creature’s best.”_

Noah seemed just as oblivious to the jostling crowd as Kurt was. He contained a whimper as, with deliberation, Noah angled his hips against Kurt’s thigh and gave him one delicious, stuttering thrust. Then he straightened up far enough to look Kurt full in the face.

“I’m always on your side, Kurt,” he said, in his regular voice. “Okay? And even if I wish the casting had been different, after that audition, you totally deserve a lead. I think you’re going to be fucking amazing.”

Then he moved both hands to hold Kurt’s face, and kissed him slowly, methodically, until he was breathless and squirming. Even the creatively ribald comments from other campers passing by didn’t detract from the moment.

“Get a room!” called Chris. “Oh, wait.”

When they broke apart, it was because Kurt’s phone, still clutched in his hand, had buzzed with a text. He glanced down—then let out an hysterical giggle.

Noah raised an eyebrow, and Kurt showed him the latest response from Finn: _Are you going to tell us or what?_

“You better,” said Noah, “or he’ll be calling me next.”

Kurt shook his head, to regain his focus as much as to register denial. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

“You have to start saying it out loud some time.” Noah’s smile broadened into a wicked grin. “Isn’t that what Andrea told you, at the _Grease_ cast party?”

“Noah,” Kurt moaned.

Noah laughed. He put an arm around Kurt’s shoulder. “Come on, just say it. _I’m Juliet.”_

“I’m Juliet,” he mumbled, and winced. “God. I can’t believe this.”

He let Noah put his phone into his hands and lead him into the hallway, where it wasn’t quite so crowded with campers. Kurt gazed at the group text in distress, then sighed and continued typing. _Well, the director decided to make Juliet a boy. So I’m Julian, in Shakespeare’s gay romance._

“… and I’m super excited about it,” Noah added in a fruity lisp. Kurt hit him on the shoulder, which just caused him to cackle again.

“How many drinks _did_ you have before coming over here?” Kurt said sourly.

He let Noah slide his arms around his waist, holding him from behind. Even his annoyance didn’t dim the bright flashes of arousal he felt, prompted by every touch of Noah’s firm body against his.

 _Cool,_ was all Finn said in response to his revelation.

Carole said, _That’s fantastic, Kurt. Your dad and I are so proud of you._

He waited for more, but that seemed to be all that was forthcoming. He wrinkled his brow and sighed, leaning back into Noah’s arms.

“They don’t think it’s weird,” he reported, holding up his phone.

“They don’t know anything about theater,” Noah said dismissively. “None of them, including Finn. They’d love you no matter what fucking part you played.”

Kurt turned his head to look at him sideways. “What about you?”

Noah nuzzled his ear. “What about me?”

“Would you love me no matter what part I played?”

In the moment, surrounded by the touch and scent and sounds of Noah, it felt like an easy question, but in the silence that followed, he regretted asking it. Still, Noah’s arms held him fast, even after one of Kurt’s neighbors walked by them in the hallway, muttering, “No, really, get a room.”

“There’s an idea,” Noah whispered. “I’ve got an empty one at the moment.”

Kurt sighed again, this time in agitation, as Noah’s hand swept up the inside of his thigh. “I doubt your roommate would appreciate it.”

“Didn’t you notice Peyton is already in _your_ room? Not to mention he seems to be doing his damnedest to lose his virginity to your roommate. Sounds pretty win-win to me.”

“Asher’s not interested. And we have class in fifty minutes.” But he didn’t move from where he was, or push Noah’s hand away.

“You said yourself we don’t need more than ten.”

Kurt took a quick glance down the hallway, which permitted himself to indulge in Noah’s touch for a few more moments. “It’s different now. We have jobs now. We have to focus on learning our roles.”

Noah kissed his neck. “Well, I already know the role of Algernon well enough to know he’s totally doing some dude on the side. I’m gonna think of this as… mmm, research.”

Kurt withdrew from his tickling kisses, giggling. “Research?”

“Fucking right.” Noah’s voice was a purr. “You get to be my Bunbury.”

Kurt shivered. “But Juliet would never do that. I… would never do that. I can’t see how your research benefits me.”

“You can’t, huh?” Noah tugged Kurt around to face him, grinning. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“If you trust me enough to come back to my room, I’ll show you.”

Kurt wasn’t about to get into an argument about trust. He simply nodded. Noah backed away down the corridor, still grinning, and when he finally disappeared into the stairwell, Kurt leaned heavily against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to calm his heart.

His eyes flew open again at a knock on the wall, and turned to see Chris leaning halfway out of the doorway. The noise of the impromptu party filtered out into the hallway.

“What’s the plan?” asked Chris. “You coming back in or what? You’re missing Disney trivia, and I have a feeling you’d kill at that.”

“I, um.” He gestured toward the staircase, his cheeks flaming. “I have another invitation.”

Chris flailed his hands in excitement. “Well? Get going! Or—don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts?”

“It’s not easy to even have first thoughts around him,” Kurt admitted, laughing, but his feet were already propelling him down the hallway. “But—okay. I’m going. Can you tell Asher I’ll meet him at dinner?”

“I won’t let anything happen to him,” Chris promised, “no matter how aggressively cute Peyton gets. Go, go!”

It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when Kurt was already half-undressed and Noah had his hand down the front of his pants, that he bothered to wonder if he _should_ be concerned about what they were doing. It wasn’t easy to disentangle himself, but he made an effort.

“You asked me yesterday,” he said, trying to catch his breath, “if I was okay with what we were doing. This whole thing, with you.”

Noah nodded, looking tense, but no less motivated. “And? Still good?”

“So good,” Kurt promised. He rested a hand on Noah’s chest. “And then today, you were… kind of angry about Bryce’s casting. Does that change anything? For you, I mean?”

“I wasn’t angry at _you.”_

“No, I know.” He licked his lips. “What _were_ you angry at, exactly?”

“Can’t we talk about this later?” Noah’s attention had returned to the button on his pants. “I’m not trying to be an asshole, but now we have, like, forty minutes. And now I have multiple objectives. Get your clothes off.”

Noah’s bossy attitude was more exasperating than appealing, but Kurt couldn’t deny he was curious about those objectives. He stripped as efficiently as he could, pausing to double-check the door was locked.

When he returned, Noah was ripping open a condom. He held it up between two fingers, raising an eyebrow.

“Any suggestions about what I should do with this?”

Kurt mirrored his expression. “I get a choice?”

“I know what I’d pick. But, yeah, you get a choice.”

He placed a hand on Noah’s cheek, and with the other hand directed the hand holding the condom to rest on his stomach.

“Put it on me?” he whispered.

Noah’s lips parted as his breath quickened, but he did as Kurt asked. “Fuck, that’s hot. Now…” He walked Kurt toward the edge of the bed, carefully swinging a leg over him. “What do you know about Juliet?”

The question caught Kurt by surprise, and he paused, becoming far too engrossed in watching Noah’s fingers spreading lube onto the pads of three of his fingers. “Uh… she’s—a rich girl who’s really too young to marry anybody?”

“But she’s into Romeo.” A lazy smile spread over Noah’s face as he leaned in closer. His hand nestled in between Kurt’s legs, trailing his fingers along the length of him. “She’s really, really into him. Like she’s never been into anybody else before.”

Kurt wasn’t sure how he could simultaneously tense his abdomen and lose all the rest of his muscle tone, but it did seem to be happening. “I think I might be familiar with that experience.”

“Yeah.” He leaned his head on Kurt’s chest, his hand below still doing— _something._ Kurt jumped when he felt a sudden tightness engulf him, and Noah let out a greedy moan as his cock jumped.

“What are you—?”

“Shh.” Noah returned to kneeling above him, gazing down at him, breathing harder now. “Knees up. Yeah, and—like that.” His eyes slid closed as Kurt gave a little thrust. “Okay. Slowly.”

Kurt swallowed on a dry throat. “I’ll try. You feel so good.”

“Yeah. Romeo already knew all about feeling good before he met Juliet. He loves experiences, and he just… goes for it. But Juliet, she had no idea.” Kurt watched Noah expression change, in rhythm to the slow, steady movement of his hips. “Until she saw him at that party, and Romeo took her hand.” His fingers, still sticky with lube, entwined with Kurt’s, and Noah squeezed tight. Then Noah’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. _“If I profane with my unworthiest hand / This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: / My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand / To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”_

Kurt nodded fervent approval, but when he leaned in to claim the kiss, Noah turned his head away.

 _“Good pilgrim, you do wrong…?”_ he prompted.

Kurt gaped up at him, then stuttered a laugh. “We’re going to _run lines?”_

“No.” Noah grinned back. He looked completely at ease, more than Kurt would have thought possible in the midst of this activity. “You’re going to understand Juliet. Come on: _Good pilgrim…”_

“I don’t know the words!”

“Just repeat after me. _Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much / Which mannerly devotion shows in this…”_

Kurt managed to struggle through the first four lines of Juliet’s first dialogue with Romeo. He gripped Noah’s hand more tightly as Noah shifted forward, and Kurt slid further inside him.

“But she _wants_ to kiss him.”

“She also wants to follow the rules,” Noah said, “so she doesn’t have to feel guilty about it afterward. And she wants to assure him he’s not going too far.”

Kurt nodded, biting his lip. Then he thrust upward, and Noah’s breath hitched. “Am I—going too far?”

“Slowly,” Noah said again, but his voice sounded somewhat forced. “Or this scene’s gonna end pretty fucking quickly. But no. Not too far.” He smiled. _“Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?_ And you say, _Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”_

“Bold.” Kurt repeated the words, then smiled back. “She’s digging the wordplay. Part of the courtship, I suppose.”

“She doesn’t want him to get the upper hand.” He leaned in a little, letting his lips brush Kurt’s. _“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; / They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”_

He nodded. “Then they kiss?”

“Not yet.” Noah was rocking back against him more steadily now, and with each movement, Kurt could feel an echoing pulse from Noah, trapped between their bodies. “She says, _Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.”_

Kurt smiled again as he repeated this, and Noah stopped where he was, trembling slightly, but steady enough on his knees.

 _“Then move not,”_ he murmured, _“while my prayer's effect I take.”_

The kiss drove Kurt to wrap himself around Noah, legs and arms involuntarily engulfing him, and Noah moaned again as he tore himself away. They stared at one another, breathing in unison.

 _“Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.”_ Noah shook his head. “Romeo said not to move.”

“I think Juliet’s enjoying being a rule-breaker for a change.”

He laughed. “No shit. So she says, _Then do my lips now have the sin they took from yours?”_

 _“Not until you suck my cock,”_ Kurt replied in the same wide-eyed tone, and Noah laughed harder, shaking his head.

“Don’t tempt me. Go on, say it.”

Kurt said it, but he was laughing too, and it didn’t feel wrong.

“I think—it’s not only that she’s caught up in her attraction for him, but it’s almost like… she’s delighted by it. With every word they say to one another, it feels more right.”

“Like they were meant to be.” Noah gazed down at him, his eyes shining. “Every fucking soulmate trope agrees with you. Even if it is just pheromones and bullshit wish-fulfillment.”

The flippant words belied Noah’s quivering tension. Kurt braced his feet more firmly on the bed. “So what does Romeo say in return?”

 _“Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!”_ He beckoned Kurt forward with an imperious gesture. _“Give me my sin again.”_

He actually did hold still while Kurt stretched forward to claim the second kiss, but, like Kurt, he wasn’t able to stay still for long. As Noah whispered encouragement, Kurt moved his hands down to cup Noah’s taut behind.

“It sounds like he’s really saying, _Do me harder,”_ Kurt murmured.

“You’re not wrong.”

Kurt gave it a sincere attempt. Though the effort was rapidly wearing him out, the effect his thrusts were having on on Noah was more than worth it. He ran his hands over Noah’s sweaty back, appreciating every aspect of his beautifully toned frame. “And does she say, _You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen?”_

“Not exactly. She compliments his technique.” Noah raised himself up, tucking his heels beneath Kurt’s legs to brace himself in one smooth movement, and grinned, clasping Kurt’s hand in his. _“You kiss by the book.”_

“You—oh.” Kurt let Noah place his hand on his cock, wrapping his fingers around it, then exhaled as Noah thrust up into it. “Oh, wow.”

“Scene’s over,” Noah said, his eyes closed. He arched back into Kurt’s touch. “Now you can say whatever you want.”

He reached over to grasp Noah’s free hand as he stroked him with the other, gazing up at him. There was nothing to say, really. All of the things he was feeling were beyond words, or at least beyond any he could summon. 

“You kiss by the book,” Kurt whispered.

Noah chuckled, his eyes still closed. “Yeah. Like that. Like she never wants to do anything else.”

 _That’s how I feel,_ he wanted to say. But realistically, there was dinner and rehearsal and two roommates to contend with, and the rest of the real world waiting out there to drag them out of bed. Kurt held his breath and gripped Noah’s hand while he writhed and thrust, and when he let out a tense, anticipatory gasp, Kurt finally stopped trying to hold back and gave in to his own pleasure.

He helped Noah disentangle their legs and lie down beside him, drenched with exertion and fluids. It took Noah a few moments to open his eyes, and even then, he couldn’t quite meet Kurt’s gaze.

“What?” Kurt asked softly. He touched the stubble of Noah’s shaved head. “What is it?”

“Sorry,” Noah muttered. He sighed, moving in closer to kiss him. “I just… this part. All these fucking _feelings._ ”

“Not bad ones, I hope?”

He shrugged. “Not all bad. Greg says I shouldn’t work so hard at shutting them down, but sometimes… I hate feeling this much. This _helpless.”_ He spat out the last word. When Kurt kissed him again, there were tears in his eyes.

“Maybe you could let me help with that, a little?”

He said it with some trepidation, but Noah just nodded. He clasped Kurt’s hand again. “You are. I mean, you do.” He gave him a wan smile. “You haven’t given up on me yet, anyway.”

“I won’t,” Kurt promised. “And that was incredible. Not just the—the sex. The lines, and Juliet’s motivation, how she feels about Romeo.”

“Yeah.” Noah rolled over to lie on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He sounded positively defeated. “And now, you get to go do that on stage with Chris, and I get to fucking watch.”

Kurt bit back the exasperated retort and rested his palm on Noah’s bare chest. “I’m pretty sure even Bryce wouldn’t be edgy enough to choreograph it like _that.”_

Noah snickered. “That would get him kicked out of Usdan for sure. To be honest, I’m not sure this casting alone might not do that. But hey, it’s his show.” He sighed. Then he turned to face Kurt, his expression as intense as Kurt had ever seen it. “This, Kurt.”

“This?”

“You and me, this casting. Romeo and Juliet. I would do anything to play Romeo opposite you. _Anything.”_

Kurt swallowed. The way this scene had gone, he had a sense of what Noah meant. “But… what about Algernon? Isn’t Algernon a good part?”

“Algernon is a fucking peach of a part. If you’re some people.”

“Some people like who?”

“For faggots, Kurt.” Noah said it with exaggerated precision. “It’s the role for twinks who can’t pass.”

“But that’s not—” Kurt sat back in shock. “That’s not you.”

“Yeah, well, I guess _some_ people disagree with you.”

He frowned. “I think Bryce specifically asked you not to make assumptions about his choice of cast.”

“Bryce also cast our good friend Chris, who is more of a fucking walking stereotype than anybody I know, as _Romeo._ ” Noah took a deep, breath and let it out in a frustrated growl.

When Kurt put his arms around Noah, he didn’t pull away, but he also didn’t relax. “Chris told me actors like him—like _me_ —never get to play Romeo.”

“Yeah. That’s the truth.” Noah shook his head, his expression shading toward despair. “So that probably means Bryce is doing all of this to prove a point. He gave us a clue in his office.”

“You mean… the thing he said about us all being motivated by fear?”

Noah nodded, still looking down.

“He’s making you play Algernon because he’s a stereotypically gay role.”

He nodded again. “He knows I’m not out at home. He cast Chris as Romeo for the opposite reason. And you, well.” Noah closed his eyes. “That’s fuck-you number two to me.”

“To _you?”_ Kurt poked him in the chest. “Why does everything have to be about _you?_ Trust me, I’m terrified to play Juliet all on my own without it being about you.”

Noah laughed wryly. “But it’s not Juliet. It’s _Julian._ And you’ll be playing opposite Usdan’s eligible bachelor number one.”

Kurt stared at him in astonishment. “You don’t have any reason to be scared of _Chris._ Chris and I are friends. That’s it. We can act a romance without being in one.”

“Who said anything about romance?” Noah snorted. “He just wants to get into your pants.” He stroked Kurt’s bare knee thoughtfully. “I don’t get what Asher’s fear could be about playing Jack Worthing, though. Jack’s kind of a regular guy.”

“Um.” Kurt bit his lip. “I think I know what it is, but… I guess you’ll have to ask Asher if he’ll explain it to you himself. I can imagine you’ll get to know each other very well, doing _Earnest._ ” He felt a flutter of dismay. “You and I, we’re not going to see much of each other, are we? Not if we’re doing two different shows?”

Noah gave him a faint smile. “Some. I’m in _Romeo & Juliet,_ too.”

Kurt blinked. “You are? What part?”

“Tybalt. Did you even look at the rest of the cast list?” He shrugged. “But, yeah, it’s a small part. You’ll mostly be with your cast, three nights a week, and I’ll be with mine three nights.”

 _Tybalt._ Kurt shook his head, feeling muddled. “I… suppose we’ll find times to be together in between classes and rehearsals.”

“Believe me, once you get into it, you’re not going to want to do anything else.”

Kurt gazed at Noah’s face, alight with more than the afterglow of sex. He shook his head. “I think you might actually feel that way about theater.”

“You have no idea. You’ve never done a _real_ show. Bryce isn’t fooling around.”

“Well, I suppose I’m about to learn what that means. In—” He glanced at the clock. “Seven minutes. Come on. I’m about to take the world’s fastest shower.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There have been several versions of Romeo and Juliet with a gay love story. Here’s [a recent one from Liverpool](https://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-39998329), and [another one in Cambridge](https://www.varsity.co.uk/theatre/17654). -amy

Noah wasn’t kidding about their production taking a tremendous amount of work. At first Kurt couldn’t imagine how Bryce would fill all that rehearsal time with nothing but acting to practice, but fill it he did. Three hours of intense rehearsal, three nights a week, was enough to wear him out, even without singing or dancing.

“I have no idea how Bryce does it,” Kurt told Chris on Saturday, as they stumbled through the dark woods back to Laura Keene. He checked his watch; it was after ten. “He has to do _six_ nights of rehearsal, and he must be at least seventy years old.”

“That’s why he has interns,” Chris replied. He kicked a rock along the path. “We do all the scheduling and the note taking and the heavy lifting. He just gets to point and say, _no, you’re doing it wrong.”_

“Of course; you and Trinity, you’re working both shows, too. You don’t get any breaks, either. I clearly need to increase my stamina.” When Chris started laughing, Kurt reached out and gave him an indignant shove. “I didn’t mean _that.”_

“Oh, no,” Chris teased, “from what I hear, Kurt Hummel already has plenty of stamina for _that.”_

He rolled his eyes. “I really don’t know how I feel about Puck telling the world about our sexual exploits.”

“Not the world. Just me. Think of me like Friar Laurence from _Romeo and Juliet_ , except in reverse. I’m the one who convinces Puck to do all the really immoral, edgy things.” Chris danced away from Kurt’s threatening fist. “Kidding! I’m kidding.”

“He seriously doesn’t need anybody to lead him into temptation.”

“Well, Kurt, if you hadn’t noticed, he doesn’t think much of me these days. Plus he’s the one who keeps saying no to me. He’s definitely got his own agenda.”

It was true. Kurt had noticed Noah becoming more snappish around Chris. And he _really_ wasn’t sure what to make of responsible Noah, who was never late to a rehearsal, never missed a cue—and also never took any notes. The last, at least, Kurt knew was mostly the way his incredible memory worked, but it was infuriating to see it in practice. He sighed, brushing his hair out of his eyes as the wind made a mockery of his styling products.

“Well… _I_ didn’t tell Puck he had to say no to you.”

“I know.” Chris gave him a sideways smile. “You’re glad he is, though.”

“It does makes things simpler.” Kurt kept his eyes on the sidewalk as they walked. “Anyway, it’s irrelevant. It’s not like we’re _really_ going to be together, anyway.”

“You mean not after this summer?”

“After this summer…” He shook his head. “I’m really not ready to think about it.”

Except, of course, now he _was_ thinking about it. Kurt could feel his mood descending into futility. He glanced over at Chris.

“You remember I told you about Finn’s crush, Michael? The one who broke his heart because he refused to date him for real?

“I remember Finn dropped him like a hot potato.” Chris shrugged. “Admirable, I guess.”

Kurt smiled faintly. “I suppose, if you don’t look too hard at how many times he ended up in the back of Michael’s Subaru after telling him no. And now they appear to be making a real attempt at things. Last week Michael took him out for dinner.”

Chris hummed with pleasure. “True love, or just sex?”

“Possibly closer to the former than the latter. I mean, I don’t know if they’ll survive Michael’s admission to NYADA, but I _think_ their intent is to enjoy the summer.”

“Sounds practical.” He nudged Kurt. “But…?”

 _“But,”_ Kurt acknowledged, “I think they might be sabotaging that just by being together. I mean, if it _is_ true love, how _can_ it just be about enjoying the summer?”

Chris nodded. “You tell me, Juliet.”

Kurt glared at him. “Trust me, I’m not planning suicide any time soon, no matter what happens with Puck. And can we change the subject, please?”

“Fine with me. What’s that?” Chris pointed at the book Kurt was carrying to look at the cover. “Is that poetry?”

Kurt held up the book to reveal the title _._ “Not for a class, but not exactly for fun, either.” He grimaced. “I made the mistake of telling Puck I was afraid to do spontaneous readings. He suggested I start reciting poetry at random. I borrowed this one from Grace.”

“Brilliant.” Chris looked delighted. “Well? Go ahead; pick one.”

Kurt pursed his lips, but after pausing beside a building with sufficient porch lighting to read by, he flipped through the pages and opened the book at random.

“The river is famous to the fish,” he began. “The loud voice is famous to silence, which knew it would inherit the earth before anybody said so. The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds watching him from the birdhouse.” He made a face. “How is this poetry? Can I pick another one?”

Chris leaned his chin on his hand, smiling, and waved idly. “Keep going.” 

“The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek. The idea you carry close to your bosom is famous to your bosom.” Kurt raised an eyebrow at Chris’s snicker. “Look, I’m just reading.”

“Ignore me,” Chris sang. “I’m the audience. You’re Juliet. Other than Mercutio and the Nurse, you’ve got just about the only funny lines in the play. They’re _going to laugh.”_ He gestured again, more grandly this time, indicating the single lightbulb illuminating his book. “Keep going.”

Kurt stifled his sigh and returned to the text. “The boot is famous to the earth, more famous than the dress shoe, which is famous only to floors. The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it and not at all famous to the one who is pictured.” He paused, then tilted his head, slowing his cadence. “I want to be famous to shuffling men who smile while crossing streets, sticky children in grocery lines, famous as the one who smiled back.”

“Nice,” murmured Chris, nodding.

“I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous, or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular, but—” Kurt found his throat abruptly closing up, and he had to swallow before completing the phrase. “—because it never forgot what it could do.”

Chris gave him a golf clap. “Bravo.” He pointed imperiously at the book. “So let me be your director for a moment. How would you do it differently the second time?”

“Well, I’d know how it ended, and when, so I’d be able to pace myself.” He closed the book and tucked it under his arm, carefully wiping his eyes. “Probably I wouldn’t cry.”

“Probably not.” Chris leaned forward, watching him intently. “And too bad. The audience would miss watching you be surprised by the words you’re about to say. That was the best moment.”

Kurt blew out a frustrated breath and stared resolutely at the sidewalk. “Forgive me if I’m not in agreement.”

“Just because you don’t like being out of control doesn’t mean your audience isn’t going to appreciate it.” When he put a hand on Kurt’s arm, Kurt flinched, and he frowned. “Hey. What’s wrong with being vulnerable?”

“Can you ask me that again after _you’re_ cast in a girl’s part?” he snapped. Chris didn’t even move, but immediately Kurt felt terrible. He gripped Chris’s hand. “I’m sorry. It’s not even a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Chris insisted. He squeezed Kurt’s hand and tried a smile, which Kurt attempted to return. “It’s your first big role, and it’s not exactly what you thought it would be.”

“You can say that again,” Kurt muttered. Chris laughed.

“Hey, I just remembered. I told you once, if you ever got a lead, I’d be the first person to give you a hug.”

He held open his arms, but didn’t move from where he stood. He was clearly giving Kurt an out. Kurt regarded him for a long moment before stepping into Chris’s embrace. It didn’t go on even a moment too long, but Kurt could feel the way his own instincts remained on alert until they let go of one another.

“That wasn’t so bad?”

Kurt smiled, trying to take the sting out of the too-long pause. “Not bad, no.”

“Hey, I can be a prick,” said Chris, with a toss of his head, “but I’m on your side. And now, I will give you the rest of my scene notes while we eat popcorn in my room.”

They trudged down the hall to Chris’s room. Ian, sans headphones, was seated on his bed with his eyes glued to his laptop. Kurt eyed him with suspicion, but Ian just grunted a non-greeting and ignored them. Chris rummaged through a satchel for a package of microwave popcorn, then handed Kurt a can of ginger ale.

“So, feeling vulnerable about playing Juliet might explain why you had so much trouble with that scene with Lady Capulet tonight.”

Kurt nodded dismally, opening the can and taking a sip. “I thought Bryce was going to say I was too stiff, but he didn’t.”

“He probably knew I would tell you.” Chris started the microwave. “So what’s Julian scared of in that scene?”

“Disappointing his mother and father?”

He made the noise of a buzzer. “Guess again. It’s related to marriage.”

Kurt sat down slowly on the edge of Chris’s bed. “Well… I suppose he doesn’t care much for being required to marry? Being caught in that pipeline because he’s the son of a lord?”

“That’s true in Shakespeare’s play. Juliet isn’t getting married because she thinks this is what’s expected of her. She’s getting married because she thinks she has no other choice. Her father is abusive and controlling. It’s literally not up to her. I think when she meets Romeo, it’s the first time she’s felt like that option is anything other than horrible, and now? She actually _wants_ it.” He planted a finger in Kurt’s chest. _“That’s_ how it feels to Julian. He’s never wanted to be with a woman, but he figured he had to be. Now that he knows this thing with Romeo is not only an option, but it’s available to him. And it’s the most amazing thing in the world.”

Kurt closed his eyes, feeling the pressure of Chris’s finger. When he opened them, Chris was watching him closely.

“You’re not going to start crying again, are you?”

“No,” Kurt said firmly. “I’m not, and—thank you. For the scene notes.”

The microwave beeped and went quiet. They both looked at it. Kurt cleared his throat.

“I should probably head to bed.”

“No popcorn, huh?” Chris sounded rueful. “Serves me right. I always try too hard.”

“He always does,” Ian said from his bed.

“See you at breakfast,” Kurt managed to say before escaping the room and closing the door behind him.

He leaned on it, breathing heavily, his heart thumping. Then he pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent Finn a text. _Still awake?_

 _Movie,_ Finn replied. _Hang on._ There was a pause while Kurt chewed on his bottom lip, making his way slowly toward the stairs.

_You didn’t have to interrupt your movie._

_It’s okay, it’s the new Pirates of the Caribbean and it sucks. What’s up?_

_Are you there with Michael?_

_Him and a bunch of the SitP cast. Not a date in case you were wondering. What’s the matter?_

Kurt dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve, wishing for his handkerchief. _Why do you think something’s the matter?_

_Because otherwise you would have told me nothing’s wrong. Do you guys get to go to the movies?_

_We watched three different versions of Romeo and Juliet so far? Does that count?_

_Hell no. That sounds like the opposite of fun. Is Puck being a jerk this week?_

_No, things are okay with us. I think._ He reached the top step of the staircase and sat on it, avoiding Bethany’s curious eyes as she walked past him, heading downstairs. _Do you think you want to get married?_

 _Whoa,_ Finn replied. _That sounds like better than okay?_

_No, I’m thinking about the play._

_Maybe? I mean, yeah. I do want to, but it sucks that it’s not legal for some people. Do you think you do?_

_Yes._ He had a lot more to say, but his vision blurred so badly after typing that one word, it was all he could manage.

 _Okay,_ said Finn. _Nobody asked you, did they?_

 _I said, this was about the play._ He sniffed in irritation. _And nobody would, anyway._

_You mean Puck wouldn’t._

Kurt glared at his blurry screen. _Yes that’s what I mean._

_It’s not like nobody else ever would, though._

Kurt wondered if Juliet had ever experienced the feeling of her heart being like the walls of her room, far too small to encompass all the experiences she wanted to have in the world—and, then, after meeting Romeo, wanting nothing more than to spend the entirety of her life in that one room, with him.

 _I’m too young to think about that._ He stared at the screen, how wrong the words felt, and also how absolutely devastated his father would be if he knew Kurt was even thinking about marriage at seventeen.

_You okay, Kurt?_

“I am okay,” he said aloud. To Finn, he said, _Why wouldn’t I be? I’m playing a lead role in what’s sure to be a notable production, in New York City._ It actually did make him feel better to type those words.

_Totally not what I asked, but okay. Call me later if you want._

_Thanks._ He hauled himself to his feet with the hand rail. _Enjoy your terrible movie._

_It’s made much funnier by the cast talking back to the screen. Nobody does crass like Quinn Fabray._

Kurt smiled. _I will take your word for that._

* * *

The calendar on his phone reminded him that Noah’s birthday was coming up, but Kurt was already aware of it, had been thinking about it for weeks. He still wasn’t sure they were in any place to celebrate, not in the way he wanted to, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t about to make an effort.

All day, Kurt watched Noah be horrible to other people. He actually taunted a ninth grader during their stage combat class until he cried.

“I wonder if I’m going to see him toss somebody in a dumpster before the end of the day,” Kurt murmured to Asher on the way to lunch. “And if you think I’m exaggerating, he did it to me more than once sophomore year.”

Asher turned round eyes on Kurt, but Chris just laughed. “And I’m sure you already know the story about why Puck got kicked out of Usdan three summers ago.”

“I’d heard rumors,” Asher said, sounding abashed. “I wouldn’t have put it past him, when I met him in June. Do you know what’s going on?”

“He hates me,” Chris said. “For reasons. And I’m too awesome for him to take it out on me, so it leaks out all over everybody else. But don’t take it personally if he does it to you. _I’m_ not.”

“Jeez.” Asher craned his neck to look behind them, where Noah and Ian were having a shouting match. “I can’t exactly avoid him, can I? We’ve got scenes together tomorrow at rehearsal.”

Kurt sighed. “Sometimes I wonder why I even _like_ him, much less…” He shrugged.

“I know why,” Chris drawled, and Kurt punched him in the arm as he snorted with laughter.

“I wish I could say it wasn’t about that at all. Believe me, I’ve spent years trying to quit him.”

Kurt managed to avoid Noah for the rest of the day. He ate dinner with Bethany and Asher and Grace and they talked about things unrelated to theater for a change.

But on his way back to his room after dinner, he passed Noah’s door. It was impossible to ignore the commotion inside. He heard him shout something like, “None of your fucking business, Asher!”

Kurt paused where he was in the hallway. He waited a few long seconds, listening, his heart thumping in his chest, but he couldn’t hear any more details. With trepidation, he approached the door, reached out and knocked.

After a moment, Noah opened it. He scowled as soon as he saw it was Kurt. “What do you want?”

“I have a message for Asher,” he improvised. “From Trinity. She needed both the interns to know something.”

“Oh.” Noah opened the door wider, revealing Asher standing with his script in hand, looking about as frustrated as Noah did. “Yeah, okay. You want him? Be my guest.”

Asher quickly followed Kurt’s beckoning hand into the hallway. He didn’t even glance back over his shoulder. “What’s the word?”

“Nothing,” Kurt admitted. “I made up an excuse because I heard Puck yelling and thought I’d interrupt. What happened?”

Asher blew out a breath. “He’s impossible. I can’t figure him out at all. How am I supposed to practice with him if he won’t go through the script with me?”

“Ohh.” Kurt took a step back. “You’re running lines? I think I know what’s going on. You know he has a crazy memory, right?

“Sure, but he doesn’t know all the lines yet. Why won’t he read them with me?”

“Because.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “He _can’t_ read them.”

“He—” Asher took a step back. “Really?”

Kurt grabbed Asher’s arm and towed him down the hallway back toward the staircase. Once inside the stairwell, he stopped, letting the door close behind them.

“Please don’t tell him I said anything. That’s not exactly true. He can read sometimes, but it’s a lot of work for him and it’s unpredictable, and…” He took a deep breath. “Forget it. I know what you should do.”

Asher just nodded, listening intently. “Yeah, okay. What is it?”

“Read his lines to him. Then he’ll say them back to you, and you respond with your lines. If he makes a mistake, don’t worry about telling him he’s wrong, just repeat the correct lines. Do the whole play through in chunks, about twenty minutes at a time.”

Asher was clearly mystified. “But—he’ll never remember it all that way.”

“He will. He’ll get it.” Kurt gave him an apologetic smile, shoving him back through the door into the hallway. “I mean it. Trust me, he’ll have the whole thing memorized by the third run-through. Go on.”

Kurt watched Asher head back into the hallway with a sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t just because Asher had listened to him without question. It was because Kurt _knew_ what Noah needed.

“Not that Puck would have let me handle him honestly,” he told Chris later on their way to masterclass. “He would have rejected it out of hand if I’d tried to explain it in front of Asher.”

“Yeah, but he has to know it was you who explained it _to_ Asher, right?” Chris gave him a pointed look. “The question is, will he blame you or thank you?”

Kurt sighed. “I honestly have no idea. He doesn’t think _I_ think he can take care of himself.”

It remained on his mind all evening. Kurt deliberately kept his distance from Noah during masterclass, watching him out of the corner of his eye as he meticulously completed each exercise. Asher was partnered with Bethany on the other side of the room; he and Noah seemed to be at ease with one another again. By the time class was over and he and Chris headed over to the big theater, Kurt felt, if not reassured, at least far more calm.

Most of that night’s rehearsal focused on Chris and Kurt in Act 2, scene II, the famous balcony scene in the Capulet orchard. Bryce kept Ian, playing Friar Lawrence, for a while to work scene III with Chris. After Ian took off, Kurt thought they were the only ones left in the theater—until he caught sight of Noah sitting in the fourth row, watching them in stony-faced silence.

It caused him to stumble on a line. He paused, feeling unexpectedly flustered, and Chris must have seen something on his face, because he put out a hand to steady him.

“What is it?”

Kurt looked up at Bryce, seated on the proscenium at stage right, then shook his head. “It’s nothing. Trinity, can I have that cue again? _O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon…”_

For the first time since they’d begun rehearsals, Kurt felt self-conscious about the words he was saying to Chris, and the way Chris was responding to him. He heard the words coming from his mouth, and saw Noah in his mind’s eye, kneeling above him, and he quivered.

“All right,” said Bryce at last. As he paused, Kurt made fists with his hands, trying to regain his focus. “Julian, you may recall this is the scene where you’re moving back and forth between your nurse and Romeo with great reluctance. There is nothing that would tear you away from him but duty, and this is where you find yourself, perhaps for the first time, pulling at the moorings of your family. As you are drawn back inside, I want you to come out again at least twice, and to be increasingly exasperated with your nurse’s demands. Yes?”

“Yes,” Kurt agreed, exhaling. He smoothed the front of his shirt. “I remember, I’m just… yes. Sorry.”

Bryce’s expression was kind. “Again, from _What satisfaction canst thou have tonight.”_

The second time they worked through the scene, Kurt was able to remember all his blocking, but part of his attention remained on the fourth row. Even though Bryce seemed satisfied with his performance, Kurt couldn’t help but feel like he’d let everybody down by being so distracted.

“I thought you guys were getting along,” Trinity said at the end, as she handed him her scene notes. “You and Puck, you _are_ …?” She trailed off, letting him be uncomfortable for a moment.

“We are. This wasn’t about that.”

 _Or maybe it was,_ he thought unhappily, glancing at the empty space in the auditorium where Noah had been sitting.

He walked back to Laura Keene beside Chris in silence. When they reached the stairwell, Chris regarded him frankly.

“Should I ask what it _was_ about?”

“I think only one person knows that for sure.” He gestured down the hall toward Noah’s room. “But he knows I’m not going to chase after him. He’s going to have to come to me.”

Chris made a farting noise that echoed in the space above them. “Well, we’re not going to get very far if that’s how it’s going to be at rehearsal.”

“It’s not,” Kurt promised. “I’ll figure it out. I promised Bryce I wouldn’t let my love life interfere with the play, and I won’t.”

He deliberated between sending Noah a text, going directly to his room and waiting, and following through on what he said he would do and ignoring him.

Luckily, Noah made the decision for him by texting him first. _Can I kick Peyton out?_

 _I’ll check,_ Kurt replied. This had happened enough times in the past few weeks that it almost felt routine by now.He made his way up the stairs to his room, where he found Asher and Grace working through Jack and Lady Bracknell’s final scene.

“Mind if I send you an audience?” Kurt asked.

Asher looked at Grace, who made a face, then shrugged. Asher nodded. “He can come up.”

Kurt sighed apologetically. “You know I wouldn’t ask if—”

“It’s fine, Kurt.” Asher smiled. “He’s not bad company.”

“He’s also _fifteen,_ ” Grace muttered.

“Did I say I was planning to _do_ anything with him?” Asher was saying, but Kurt was already heading back downstairs, with a quick text to Noah to let him know Peyton was welcome. They passed one another in the stairwell. Kurt suspected Peyton was far more eager than he was.

He paused outside Noah’s room, then lifted his hand to knock softly. He thought about what date it was, what was happening tomorrow, and wondered if he should knock again or just walk away.

Before he could make a decision, Noah opened the door. They looked at each other for a long moment, neither one moving.

“You can come in, I guess,” Noah said, sounding aggravated.

Kurt crossed his arms. “Not if that’s how you’re going to talk to me.”

He wondered if Noah was going to roll his eyes at his retort, but he didn’t. He just nodded.

“You trust me to explain inside, or do I have do it here in the hallway?”

Kurt sighed. “It would be stupid of me not to come in.”

Noah nodded again. He looked as wretched as Kurt had seen him all summer. When Kurt reached out to take his hand, he thought for a minute Noah might actually start crying. He took a step toward him, but Noah put up a warding hand, almost as though he expected Kurt to hit him. Kurt drew back and wrapped his arms around himself in frustration.

“What’s the matter?”

“Just—” Noah bit back the rest of what he was going to say. He gestured at the chair beside his bed. Kurt sank into it, watching as Noah shut the door and began to pace the brief span of floor.

“You were watching from the audience,” said Kurt. “Me and Chris, on stage.”

“Yeah.”

“Were you… jealous?”

“No!” Noah didn’t even look at him as he strode back and forth. “Yes.”

“Jealous because he’s Romeo and you’re not.”

Noah turned away, facing the wall. “I’m not jealous of him and you.”

“So what were you—?”

“I’m not jealous of _him_ and _you,”_ he said again, more loudly. “I’m jealous of _him._ How he is, all the time. How he gets to be. Not just here, but everywhere, in the world.” He stopped and rested his hands on top of his head, gazing at the ceiling as he breathed hard. “Fuck. Why is this so fucking hard? Why can’t it be as easy for me as it is for him?”

With an effort, Kurt stayed where he was. “You’re jealous of Chris… being himself.”

“I want it to feel that easy.” Noah’s voice was hoarse. He hit his chest with his clenched fist. “Easy to feel—these things for you. But it’s not. All I feel like is a coward.”

Kurt shook his head. “You’re not a coward, Noah. Don’t you know how inspired I am by you, every day?”

Noah’s fist went slack and fell to his side. “What the hell, Kurt? How can you even say that? I take the easy way out every fucking time.”

“That’s not true. You wouldn’t even be here if you’d taken the easy way out. You’d be getting high behind the school or hooking up with Brittany and Santana. You’d still be the closeted jerk, throwing kids like me into dumpsters.” He gestured at the door. “Kids like Chris and me. But you’re not. You danced with me at prom last spring.”

“Tradition,” Noah muttered, with a little head shake, but his anger had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He closed his eyes. “I still am the closeted jerk, Kurt. If you hadn’t noticed.”

“I noticed,” Kurt said, keeping his voice even.

Noah went to his backpack, hanging on a hook on the wall, and rummaged inside, still whispering to himself under his breath. Finally, he thrust a book at Kurt. He read the title: _Coming Out of Shame._

“It’s one of the books Greg told me to read,” he said through his teeth, “since I’m skipping therapy this summer. I bought it, and I tried to read it, like, eight times. Except every time I tried, I just wanted to puke. So I gave up, like the fucking coward I am. So there it is. You want me to be the strong one, but I’m not.”

Kurt swallowed, holding the book in both hands. Cautiously, he asked, “You stopped reading because of the—the words? Or the content?”

Noah snorted. “Yes? I mean, come on, you already know the answer to that.”

“I just wanted to know.” He paged through the book, stopping where the page was dog-eared. “Because I could—do you want me to read it to you? With you?”

He looked nothing short of horrified. _“No._ Fuck. I really don’t think I could handle that.”

“So you’d tell me to stop.” He held out a hand to Noah. “And I would.”

Noah glared at his hand. “And then what?”

“Then we’d wait until you were ready to try again.”

“So fucking stupid,” he whispered, and reached out and took Kurt’s hand. When Kurt smiled at him, he closed his eyes. “Don’t.”

“Even if you’re ashamed of yourself,” said Kurt, “I’m not. Especially not if you keep trying.” He tugged on the hand until Noah sat, unwilling, on the edge of the bed beside him. “Is this where you left off?”

When he didn’t answer, Kurt began reading at the top of the page.

“Whenever gay people are faced with situations in their daily lives that involve self-disclosure or invite self-identification as gay or lesbian…” He watched Noah’s face turn red. “… they are immediately thrown into a scene fraught with the potential for shame… Our first impulse is to like or deflect the question.” He paused. “Do you really think Chris _doesn’t_ feel like that sometimes? That _I_ don’t feel like that?”

“It’s not the same.”

“Why not?” Kurt reached out to touch Noah’s knee, but stopped when Noah moved out of his reach. “Because we don’t have the ability to hide it as easily as you do?”

“Because his mom didn’t tell him she was ashamed of him,” Noah spat. “Because your dad didn’t resort to using drugs because his son was a fucking—”

“A _what?”_ Kurt protested. “Your dad is, too. You know it wasn’t about that. He told you about Felix, don’t he? You may have thought he was ashamed of you for being gay, but that wasn’t true. And he took full responsibility for his actions that ended up with you in juvie. Right?” He poked Noah with his toe. “Noah, nothing your dad ever did was your fault.”

Kurt waited until Noah had collected himself, then reached out again for his knee. This time Noah didn’t pull away. He wiped his eyes with the side of his hand.

“Yeah.” Then he gave Kurt a half smile. It hit Kurt like a ray of sunshine coming out from behind a cloud. “Greg keeps telling me that, too.”

“Well, if you won’t listen to me or your dad, at least listen to him. Or maybe to the author of this book.”

Noah shrugged. “Maybe I should. That book, some of it’s so true it’s scary. There’s a whole chapter explaining why I don’t trust anybody, and another one about why it feels so fucking terrible to watch you and Chris staring into each other’s eyes on stage.”

Kurt squeezed his knee, thinking it through. “Because… you wish that was as easy for you to do with another guy as it is for Julian and Romeo to do with one another? And you think, because it’s not, you’re some kind of failure?”

Noah winced, scowling. “Bingo.”

“It doesn’t seem like it’s hard for you to do it with me, though.” He wrinkled his brow when Noah shook his head. “Not always, anyway.”

“I know,” Noah said bitterly. “The fact that I can’t predict when it will be and when it won’t is the worst part.”

Kurt nodded. “Okay if I read some more?”

Noah remained silent for a long time as Kurt read the next several pages. When Kurt got to the end of the chapter, he turned turned the book over on his lap. Noah let out a long, pained exhalation.

“Ender’s easier,” he told Kurt. He made a face as Kurt laughed. “You think I’m kidding?”

“No, not at all.” He handed the book back to Noah. “It’s not an easy read, but I’m glad you let me help. Especially today, when it felt impossible.”

“Greg calls it _doing the work._ When I’m sure nothing will help, but I talk about it anyway.” He shrugged. “My dad…. for him, the only work was theater. I don’t think he ever worked hard at anything except that.”

“But you are,” said Kurt. “You’re doing the work.”

“Yeah, and so what?” With sudden vehemence, Noah tossed the book against the wall, hard enough to make Kurt jump. “Where does talking get me, exactly? Just a bunch of words. You can tell me whatever you want, but none of it matters.”

Kurt licked his lips, feeling suddenly cold. “You’re telling me you don’t trust what I tell you?”

“I can’t trust _words._ My dad told me eighty million times that he was going to do better, but eventually he would always fuck up again. Promises don’t mean dick.”

He tried to remain calm. “They do to me.”

Noah thrust an accusing finger at the book lying on the floor. “Like I said. You trust promises; I don’t.”

“That doesn’t mean I think people are always going to keep them. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that people sometimes leave. Even if they do love you.” Kurt stared at Noah until he looked away. “Yeah. After my mom died, I was sure I was never going to fit into my life again. That I would never have a—a place to be myself. But I’m not afraid of that anymore. Not since my dad met Carole. Loving my family, being loved by them… that really counts for something.”

“What about when they fall out of love?” Noah shot back. “When you fail your family? When you realize that whatever you started with isn’t good enough anymore? Why would anyone want to deal with that? Family is fucking terrifying.”

Kurt stood up, glaring down at Noah, who looked startled. “You’re very skilled at pushing me away, you know that?”

“Kurt.” Noah grabbed his leg. “Wait. Just—don’t.” He held on until Kurt sat back down again. “Look… I’m sorry.”

“Big of you,” Kurt sniffed, but he took Noah’s hand. “I’m sorry too. I know you’re scared.”

Noah tugged on his hand until Kurt moved closer, from the chair to the bed, their legs touching. They were close enough to kiss, but Noah still wouldn’t look at him directly.

“Watching that scene tonight, you as Julian and Chris as Romeo, it just made me think…” Noah gestured at him. “I could see you with a guy like that. Somebody who wouldn’t be so fucked up.”

“I don’t want—” Kurt began, but Noah cut him off.

“And I know I told you not to compromise—and I still don’t want you to—but that doesn’t mean I want to be left behind.” He clutched Kurt’s hand hard enough to hurt. “Selfish.”

“Maybe. But honest.”

Noah nodded, staring down at their joined hands. “Like it was with Beth. Shelby’s a better parent than me or Quinn would ever be, and I’m still… I wish I could have been. But I know, I always knew, I wasn’t good enough for that.”

Kurt blinked back tears. “That’s how it feels? You think you’re not good enough for me?”

“No. I know I’m not.” He leaned in and wrapped Kurt in a fierce hug. “And I still can’t stop wanting you, all the time. Every day.”

They were both still crying when they finally kissed, but it didn’t seem to matter to either of them. Noah touched his chin, his cheek, the side of his face, and Kurt smiled shakily.

“I can come over tomorrow night after _Earnest_ rehearsal, if you want me to read the next chapter,” he said. “Or I could bring Ender, if you’d rather.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Noah leaned his forehead against Kurt’s. His voice was low and full of grief. “It’s, um. It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

“I know. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

“Kurt.” Noah didn’t clutch at him, but Kurt stayed where he was, held by his voice. “Can you—I want you to…” He took a deep breath. “Would you come to my rehearsal?”

“To _Earnest?_ Do you want me to?”

Noah finally looked up. When their eyes met, Kurt felt it almost as a physical blow. “Yeah, I do.”

Kurt nodded back. “Of course. Yes. ”

“Okay. Thanks.” Noah let out his breath, a little at a time, then flexed his hands. “Now… I think you’d better go.”

Kurt waited until he’d stumbled out the door and down the hallway toward the stairwell to dissolve into ugly tears. At least he avoided running into anyone he knew. By the time he arrived at his room, he’d even managed to dry his eyes.

Neither Peyton nor Grace were there, but Asher was. When he gave Kurt a questioning look, Kurt waved him away.

“I’m okay. Heavy conversation. I was going to tell Peyton he might want to wait a little longer before he goes back to his room. How did he like your scene?”

“He was full of compliments. He and Grace went to get ice cream from the vending machine.” He touched his arm. “I take it it didn’t go so well with Puck?”

“He did warn me it was going to be hard.” Kurt sank down on the side of his bed, putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about him.”

“Kurt…” Asher sat across from him. “Did he really throw you into the dumpster?”

“He threw slushes into my face, too.”He grimaced. “I know. But the fact was, that happened _after_ he told me he was in love with me—and that was a year after we fell in love at all. He told me straight out, and then I failed him by outing him, after which he decided he needed to regain his reputation as the straight badass.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “How can you trust somebody who treated you like that?”

“I didn’t,” said Kurt. “For a long time. But he asked me years ago not to give up on him. He’s working hard, harder than anybody I know. I know his family, his situation. I read to him every night when he was in juvie.” Kurt held up a hand when Asher’s eyes bugged out. “Another story. And we had phone sex one entire summer while he was at Usdan without me. He’s part of me. I know that’s ridiculous and trite, but it’s true.”

Asher sighed. “Well, I do get it, if it makes you feel any better. But I can’t believe he’s anything close to good enough for you.”

“I know.” Kurt made a face. “But you’re also the one with the crush on _Blaine Anderson,_ and trust me, _he’s_ nowhere near good enough for _you.”_

“Oh my god.” Asher hid behind his incomparable forearms. “You can’t tease me about that. We don’t get to decide our crushes.”

“No,” Kurt agreed. “But we do get to decide how to handle them… and mine’s definitely a work in progress.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem “[Famous](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47993/famous)” is by Naomi Shihab Nye. 
> 
> Thanks to Gershen Kaufman and Lev Raphael for writing [Coming Out of Shame](https://books.google.com/books/about/Coming_Out_of_Shame.html?id=MrkPAQAAMAAJ:), as well as all of their previous books that helped so many queer people through that process in the 1980s, 90s and beyond—and also for raising such a very nice son. -amy


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another warning in this chapter for mature content. -amy

Kurt left dinner a little early to ensure he’d be able to sneak over to the auditorium without running into anybody. He knew he wasn’t doing anything wrong by attending Noah’s rehearsal, especially considering he’d been invited, but it still felt a little like he was spying.

 _I’m not ready to justify it to Asher or Chris or anyone else,_ he thought, closing the door quietly behind him, _especially because I don’t exactly understand what I’m doing here myself._

It reminded him vaguely of his experience “breaking into” the Gershwin to sing “Defying Gravity” with Rachel. For the first time since he’d arrived at Usdan, Kurt felt a pang of missing her. He wondered if her own theater camp experience at Oberlin was turning out to be anything like this.

While Chris moved the props into place and Bryce took his seat on the stool downstage right, Kurt sat on the far aisle, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. He knew the actors on the stage wouldn’t really be able to see him over the lights unless he drew attention to himself. He glanced over the empty, silent house and watched as Asher and Noah took their places.

“Good evening, boys,” Bryce called out, in that voice that carried without effort across the stage. “I believe you promised me today you’d be off-book for Act One?”

Noah didn’t respond, but Asher replied, “All set.”

“Glad to hear it. Please say _line_ if you need one, and Chris will supply it. Focus on keeping your diction crisp and your pacing even; these gentlemen will take all the time they need.” He gestured to Chris. “If you please.”

Noah was muttering under his breath, but as Chris announced, “Mr. Ernest Worthing,” he quieted, closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again.

And he was, all at once, _someone else._ As he rounded on Asher with a breezy smile and called, “How are you, my dear Ernest? What brings you to town?”

Kurt let out a rapid breath, staring. After a few more moments, he remembered to close his mouth.

Asher and Noah traded seemingly meaningless dialogue about Jack’s gallivanting in the country. Kurt now knew the inane bickering about cigarette cases and cucumber sandwiches were innuendoes, speaking to the specific experiences of closeted gay men in Oscar Wilde’s time. The two of them covered great swaths of the stage with long strides, working the invisible audience with their gloves and jackets and other small props.

It was overblown in a way Kurt had never seen Noah act before. Not only that, but Noah wasn’t trying to be even a little bit subtle about the gay undertones. The way he looked Asher over from head to toe as he declared, “My dear fellow, the way you flirt with Gwendolen is perfectly disgraceful,” was both hilarious and illuminating, particularly as he followed it up with an impeccably timed, “It is almost as bad as the way Gwendolen flirts with you.”

Asher raised his chin and replied stiffly, “I am in love with Gwendolen. I have come up to town expressly to propose to her.”

Noah landed a withering look. “I thought you had come up for pleasure? I call _that_ business.”

Kurt muffled his giggles. Even Chris was smiling as he called out, “Wait for laughter,” but it was unnecessary. The two boys were in perfect sync with one another, circling each other like carnivores stalking their prey as they delivered their lines with punch and precision.

“The very essence of romance is uncertainty,” Noah announced to the audience at large, seeming to barely include Jack in his statement. “If ever I get married, I’ll certainly try to forget the fact.”

Asher smiled bitterly at him. “I have no doubt about that, dear Algy.”

Even the sequence about the sandwiches was dripping with sexual tension. Kurt half-expected Noah to slap Asher’s hand away as he reached for a slice of bread and butter, but instead he placed his own hand on top of Asher’s, stopping it where it was. They gazed at one another over the table.

“Well, my dear fellow,” murmured Noah, his voice rich and low. “You need not eat as if you were going to eat it _all.”_ When Asher moved to draw his hand away, Noah caught it, holding it fast. “You behave as if you were married to her already.” Then, suddenly, he let go, and Asher staggered back a step. Kurt held his breath as Noah let out a brief, contemptuous laugh. “You are not married to her already… and I don’t think you ever will be.”

“Why on earth do you say that?” stammered Asher.

“All right,” called an unfamiliar voice. Kurt looked around in alarm; the voice was coming from a seat less than five rows behind him. Seated there was a heavy middle-aged bearded man bearing a tablet, rising to his feet. “Bryce, can you have them take it forward to the cigarette case?”

This part featured Noah being as brilliant as ever, but now all Kurt’s attention was on the man in the audience. He wasn’t smiling, but he was watching very closely, and taking copious notes between scenes.

“Okay,” he said finally. “Both of you, state your full name, the name of your school, and the city and state where you live.”

Asher went first. When Noah said, “Noah Puckerman,” the man frowned.

“That’s _Aaron’s_ kid?” he said to Bryce.

“In every way,” Bryce replied.

Kurt looked back at the stage, but Noah had already walked away. He scrambled out of his seat and climbed the stairs to where Chris was putting away the props.

“Who was that?” he demanded. “The man in the audience?” 

“A headhunter from AMDA. He’s one of Bryce’s former students, and he loves this play.”

Kurt gazed across the stage into the wings. “They were so good. So much better than I expected.”

“Really?” He looked dubious. “Come on, Kurt, you’ve been watching Puck on stage for at least three years. You know what he can do. He’s no better in this than he was in _Glengarry Glen Ross.”_

“No, but—” He gave up trying to explain himself to Chris. He wasn’t the one he was going to need to convince, anyway. Then he hurried across the auditorium to catch up to Noah before he left.

He didn’t need to go far. Noah was sitting on the bench outside the auditorium, waiting for him.

“I told Asher to go back without us.”

Kurt nodded, sitting beside him, but Noah immediately stood up, moving restlessly across the gravel path.

“You were fantastic,” Kurt told him. “Really, both of you, together. The timing was perfect. I can’t wait to see the rest of it.”

Noah just nodded. “Thanks.”

“Is—” He paused, trying to figure out how to ask it. “This kind of role. Is it harder than something else?”

“Something less gay, you mean?”

He bit his lip. “I mean, like, Ricky Roma.”

“Ricky Roma’s pretty gay.” But he gave Kurt a dismissive shake of his head. “I can be anybody I want to be on stage. It doesn’t imply anything at all about me.”

“I don’t think that’s exactly true,” said Kurt. “Even if you think you’re hiding, when you’re using other people’s words, you let more of yourself show. As though the language lets you be yourself in a way that you can’t be ordinarily.”

Noah was silent. When Kurt shot him a worried look, he sighed in obvious annoyance.

“I didn’t mean to—” Kurt began, but Noah just shook his head again, and he stopped.

“I don’t really know what parts you think are me and what parts you think are somebody else, Kurt.” He gazed soberly down the dark path in front of them, then back at Kurt. “Sometimes _I_ can’t even tell.”

“Does it matter?” Kurt shook his head. “To the audience, I mean? You and Asher, this circumstance you’re constructing—yes, I know it’s pretend, but the feelings you’re going to prompt in the audience are real.”

Noah shrugged. “They turn out to be brothers, anyway. Who cares.”

“No, I know, but it’s not about them. It’s bigger than that. Bryce was right about it being as much a tragedy as Romeo and Juliet. This whole show, the audience is going to watch Jack and Algy, closeted gay men, determinedly finding women to marry, and…”

“It never would have worked, Kurt.” Now his voice was soft. “Not during Wilde’s time. Bunburying was all they had to look forward to. They still had to fulfill society’s expectations.”

When Noah came over and offered his hand, Kurt took it. He let Noah set the pace back to Laura Keene.

“So what if you did get married?” Kurt said. “To—to a woman. Would you, um. Want to know Bunbury?”

“You really think I’m going to meet a nice girl and settle down, Kurt?” Noah sounded legitimately amused. “Who? Like Quinn?”

Quinn, who was in the running for class valedictorian, and probably would be able to both afford to go to and get into Princeton or Yale, was a less realistic choice than Kurt would have come up with. “Anybody.”

“I’d like to think I wouldn’t, after what happened with my dad. Not that I know the whole truth of that, I guess.” He shook his head. “Cheating is totally not okay, but if you’re asking me if I would get myself a beard who knew what she was getting herself into, just to make my Nana happy, and still fool around with dudes on the side? I don’t know.”

“And you don’t think you’d ever want to get married to a man.”

Noah scuffed the wood chips with the toe of his boot. “We’ve had this conversation before, Kurt.” 

“I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“Hey, no. You get to talk about stuff if you want. Just because I disagree doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.” Noah squeezed his hand. “I’ll listen. I hear that’s what friends do.”

He hung back on the path, and Noah stopped, looking back at him.

“Friends,” Kurt repeated. He swallowed when Noah nodded. “Is—is that really all?”

“You know it’s not,” Noah murmured. He reached out and took Kurt’s other hand, tugging him closer. “But I’d say it’s still a lot.”

He kissed him, right in the middle of the path outside of Laura Keane, which was largely empty anyway, but it still made Kurt cry. He wrapped Noah in both arms and held on tight.

“Isn’t there anything you can think of that you want from me that I can give you?”

“Well, you came to rehearsal,” said Noah. “There’s that, already. And you’re reading to me again, even if it does suck.”

Kurt laughed into Noah’s shirt. He kissed his neck and sighed, resting his head on his shoulder.

“I have two things I want to give you for your birthday. I’m not exactly sure you’re going to like them, but it was all I could think of.”

He felt Noah tense under his touch, and let him pull away, watching Kurt warily. “Okay?”

“I promise none of them involve anybody jumping out and saying _surprise._ Come on.”

They walked up the steps to the main room together, and down the hall to Noah and Peyton’s room. Kurt gestured at the door, and Noah unlocked it, clearly bemused. The room was empty.

“Peyton’s having a slumber party with Asher tonight. No,” Kurt added, holding up a hand at Noah’s dubious expression, “it’s platonic, and there are girls involved. Though I wouldn’t put it past them to play spin-the-bottle. They’re going to cover for us.”

Noah nodded silently. He looked around the room, and finally shrugged. “I guess it’s no worse than trying to fit in your single bed, the way we did sophomore year. We could put the mattresses on the floor, if you want.”

“I don’t mind sleeping with you in your bed.” Kurt sat on the edge of it, looking up at Noah’s unhappy face. “Is this going to be okay?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” He sighed in frustration. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Kurt, I wish—”

“It’s all right.” He reached up and took Noah’s hand. “We don’t have to do anything. I thought just having some time set aside would be nice. Just for us, where we don’t have to be worried about being interrupted. We can do—anything we want.”

Noah nodded slowly. He was still watching Kurt warily, like he was going to start yelling any moment, but he looked a little less spooked. “So what did you have in mind?”

Kurt smiled. “I considered preparing a monologue for you, but that’s not so different from what we do every day. And it occurred to me that you might prefer knowing I was doing something a little risky. So…” He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a book, then handed it to Noah. “Pick one. I’ll read it to you.”

He took one look at the cover, and laughed. “A sonnet?”

“I promise, I haven’t practiced any of them, other than the ones we read for British Literature last year. Totally off the cuff.” He grimaced. “Just try not to judge me too harshly, okay?”

Noah didn’t even open the book before he handed it back. He wasn’t smiling, exactly, but his eyes were a little shiny. “Number 23.”

He took a seat on the floor in front of Kurt, watching him with the kind of intensity that made Kurt wonder exactly what he was expecting to see. Kurt flipped through the book until he reached the twenty-third sonnet. He looked it over to make sure there were no words he didn’t already know how to say, and took a deep breath, glancing down at Noah.

“You sure you’re not going to—?”

“Kurt,” said Noah softly. “Just read it.”

He nodded. Noah remained quiet and still as Kurt employed his best diction, his most thoughtful pacing, his fullest awareness of the strategies for reading iambic pentameter that Bryce had imparted upon him over the past weeks. He kept the emphasis off the subordinate clauses, paying attention to Stanislavsky’s “single stress” of each sentence, and building to a peak at the _O!_ at the start of the ninth line—but, mostly, as best as he could, he kept his eyes on Noah.

“As an unperfect actor on the stage,  
Who with his fear is put beside his part,  
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,  
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;

So I, for fear of trust, forget to say  
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,  
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,  
O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might.

O! let my looks be then the eloquence  
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,  
Who plead for love, and look for recompense,  
More than that tongue that more hath more express’d.”

He hesitated, wondering if he’d spoken the three “more”s and three “that”s of the last line correctly, and saw Noah’s hungry eyes watching him. It seemed they were begging him silently—appropriately, he thought—to finish the last couplet. He took another long breath.

“O, learn to read what silent love hath writ,” he said, “to hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.”

Noah nodded, still without words. He reached up and took the book out of Kurt’s hand, setting it beside him on the bed, and rose to his knees. With care, he moved in close to kneel between Kurt’s legs, then slid his arms around Kurt’s back and held him close. It was a wholly different embrace than the one they’d shared outside.

“Do you want to provide an interpretation,” Kurt murmured, “or give me your performance notes?”

Noah shook his head. “Just—let me.”

He kissed him gently, stroking his face with his hands, pausing often to look at him in apparent wonder. This went on for several minutes, as Kurt found himself the sole object of Noah’s focused attention. The only sound in the room was their labored breathing. Kurt quickly found himself tingling with arousal, though Noah’s attention did not once stray below the waist. 

Finally, he paused, sitting back in a crouch, their hands still joined.

“Well.” Kurt laughed, feeling somewhat dizzy. He smiled at Noah. “I think we can add _reading poetry_ to your list of turn-ons. Um… mine, too.”

Noah didn’t even blink. “Anything you say is going to turn me on, Kurt. But that… yeah, that was something else.”

“Yeah.” He gathered his courage before going on. “So, you may recall we once had a conversation about our earliest fantasies about one another.”

It was a joke, of course, because Noah always remembered everything, down to the last detail, even the date things happened. He simply nodded again.

“I’ve been thinking about… one of them in particular.” Kurt touched the button-down shirt he was wearing, and watched Noah’s eyes widen in recognition. “A lot. And I know it’s not the same maroon shirt, the one with a million buttons, but… if you don’t mind, this one will go faster.”

“Kurt,” Noah breathed.

He drew Noah’s hands up to his collar, holding his gaze.

“Start at the top,” he said. “And go down.”

Noah fumbled with the top one, but he let out a little whine as he did, and as Kurt leaned forward to give him better access, he choked out, “God.”

“That’s it,” Kurt whispered. “Just like that. Keep going.”

He knew from experience the power a long-standing fantasy like this could hold over a person, the way it could get him just on the edge of coming in a ridiculously short amount of time. Watching that happen to Noah gave him an equivalent rush. Kurt kept encouraging him, and with every button, Noah would expel another shaky breath, until he got to the point where he could slide his hands inside Kurt’s shirt.

“Don’t stop,” Kurt said, then had to catch his own breath as Noah’s thumbs circled his nipples.

“Fuck,” he muttered. His eyes fixed on Kurt’s lap, where it was obvious how much he was appreciating Noah’s progress. “You want me to cream my jeans? Because I might.”

With effort, Kurt redirected Noah’s hands to his buttons. “You’re not done yet.”

Noah did his best to stay on task, but he definitely wasn’t being silent anymore, his commentary consisting mostly of wordless noises. When at long last he unfastened the last button of Kurt’s shirttails, he spread them open with his hands and pressed his mouth to Kurt’s trembling stomach.

“Don’t stop,” Kurt whispered, and Noah looked up at him with wide eyes. When his hands moved to the button on Kurt’s pants, Kurt nodded. “Please.”

Noah didn’t hesitate again. Kurt lifted his hips off the bed, and Noah helped him work his tight pants down past his knees. That was as far as he let Kurt go before fixating on his erection. Kurt heard himself blurt, “Oh my god,” as Noah mouthed him through his boxer briefs.

“Come on.” Noah was practically salivating, his pupils huge. “Let me…”

“Don’t you want me to—”

“Shut up.” Noah gave him one quick glance, full of frustration and desire, and Kurt swallowed a moan. With one hand, he tugged the front of Kurt’s briefs down, and with the other, he gripped him, directing him into his mouth with deft precision.

Kurt attempted to follow Noah’s instruction to _shut up_ , but it wasn’t easy, not with the heat and the friction and the pace Noah was setting. He hitched a breath. “Oh, _god…”_

Now Noah was the one making the encouraging noises, leaning over him, his free hand slowly stroking the revealed skin of Kurt’s rib cage as he somehow managed to continue the quicker rhythm of his head. There was nothing else Kurt could imagine telling him to do, except maybe to keep doing _that,_ exactly like _that._

Then Kurt caught Noah’s eye, watching him with that same focused intent he’d used to kiss and touch him. Only now, it was all directed in one very specific way.

Kurt’s eyes slid closed, but he forced them back open, to watch Noah for as long as he could before the inevitable conclusion. He bucked his hips and gasped, a third time, “Oh—god!”

Noah slowed down just enough, drawing it out a little bit, as though there was any way to stop it from happening. Whatever kind of control Kurt had was gone, but in that moment, he didn’t care even a little bit. He found himself attempting to thrust up into Noah’s mouth with urgency, actually begging him, _please, I need_ , but Noah held him down with one firm hand splayed on his hip, maintaining that deliciously frustrating pace for longer than Kurt would have believed possible.

In the remaining corner of his rational brain, he found himself thinking _oh, that’s so thoughtful of him_ as he slid into what felt like the world’s most intense orgasm.

Through the haze of release, Kurt was able to watch Noah stripping out of his jeans and climbing on top of him, pressing him down onto his bed and frantically stroking off onto his stomach. He muttered, “God, babe, that was the fucking hottest thing,” before Kurt managed to find his mouth and kiss him as he came.

There was so much more kissing after that, but it was much lazier and not at all goal-oriented. Kurt shed the last leg of his pants and both of his socks and helped Noah out of his shirt, until at last they were both naked and prone and in one another’s arms.

“I know at some point,” said Kurt eventually, his voice coming out a little slurred, “I’m going to feel uncomfortably sticky, but… it hasn’t happened yet.”

“Awesome.” He felt the gentle pressure of Noah’s scratchy cheek on the skin of his neck. “God, you smell good.”

Kurt giggled under his breath as he gazed at the ceiling. “I think there is no way for me to feel better than I do right now.”

“Sex is good for that,” Noah agreed. He was still smiling. “Way to pick the best birthday present, babe.”

“Super selfish birthday present, you mean.”

“Not gonna lie. It’s a lot better knowing it was good for you, too.”

They both yawned at the same time, then cracked up. Noah rested his head on Kurt’s bicep as he sighed.

“Do I really get to spend the night in your bed?” Kurt whispered. “Selfish birthday present number three. I can’t promise I won’t snore.”

“Well, I can’t promise I won’t wake you up in the middle of the night and want to do that to you again.”

Kurt let his eyes fall closed. “It would be an admirable opportunity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is [Sir Patrick Stewart reciting Sonnet 23](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uaKkGjyTKug). (I love that he starts with a mistake and says “imperfect” instead of “unperfect”).


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for brief mention of violence. If that seems vague, it’s because it’s vague in the story, too. -amy

“It’s so weird to be leaving camp for the day,” Kurt said, looking around at the sidewalk and concrete, “but even weirder to realize that all this time, we’ve been less than forty-five minutes away from the city. Like, _The City.”_

“This is only your second time here, right?” Anthony shook his head in bemusement. “So weird. What is Ohio like, anyway? Do you really have cows walking around everywhere?”

“I’m going to assume that’s a joke.” Kurt didn’t even bother to glare at him. Since the first tense day of camp, he and Anthony been friends. He attempted to position himself so that Anthony could walk next to Chris. “Ohio has real cities, too. Admittedly we don’t live in one, but Lima has a lot more strip malls than it has cows.”

“And you occasionally even produce theatrical geniuses,” Chris said airily. Noah took a bow, then pushed Kurt into Chris, who bounced him right back to Noah. “I wasn’t talking about you, Puckerman.”

“He was talking about Finn’s friend, Michael, who made it into NYADA, too,” said Kurt. “You’ll get to meet him next year, Anthony. Please don’t poach him, though. It would make Finn absolutely impossible to live with, and we have one more year to make it through as roommates.”

“Are he and Michael officially dating now?” Chris wanted to know.

“Hard to tell from this distance, but the last I heard Finn had been invited over to have dinner with his parents a second time. And everybody in the summer theater company knows what’s going on. Whether or not they’ll continue after the summer, however, is anybody’s guess.”

There was an awkward pause as Anthony glanced at Noah, who looked at the sidewalk. Kurt avoided Chris’s inquisitive looks, appearing to admire what was in the windows they were passing.

“Being on stage at the Gershwin Theater last spring was a real eye-opener,” Kurt said. “Even just for a moment. I hadn’t realized just how _large_ the professional stage was.”

“Larger than life,” Noah said snidely. “And just like that, you’ve got a lead part.”

“Don’t be bitter.” Chris gave him a chiding look. “Let Julian enjoy his newfound fame. I hear a reporter from Broadway.com is coming to do a story at next week’s dress rehearsal.”

Noah actually looked a little disgruntled at this news, but Anthony said, “That’s great, Kurt. A little press never hurts, even if it’s just an online magazine.”

Kurt, who’d hoped to attend Shakespeare in the Park, was disappointed to discover there was no way they could get free tickets unless they had arrived before dawn and stood in line all morning.

“So, unless you have $200 for the not-free variety of tickets,” Chris said cheerfully, “you’ll have to make do with Shakespeare in the Parking Lot. Which, admittedly, is still pretty cool, even if it is behind the public library.”

They took the subway across the East River and got off at the Bryant Park station, where a crowd was already gathering for the production of “A Comedy of Errors.”

“Check it out,” said Noah, gesturing at the performers, dressed as pizza vendors for the contemporary setting of the play. “That could be you in five years, if you’re lucky.”

The actors were fantastic, of course. None of them were anything less than professional quality, like so many of the actors waiting to make it big in New York. Kurt enjoyed the production, but it made him uneasy, too.

“Do you really think that’s your future?”

The question was directed to Noah, but Chris answered first. “Not yet. I don’t have any illusions about being a big enough fish for this particular pond. And I’m not going to college, at least not right away. Next year, I’ll intern wherever Bryce sends me, probably Chicago, and audition for shows there. Would I rather live in New York? Hell, yes, but there’s no way I can afford rent.” He gave Kurt a sunny smile. “But you know what I say. If somebody hands you an advantage, you grab it and hold on with both hands.”

Anthony tugged on Kurt’s arm as he shook his head. “Chris’s going to try to convince you that you don’t have to go to college to have a career in theater. Don’t listen to him. It’s not just because it gives you an actual degree in case you don’t make it big. You get classes in production, writing, staging, direction, stage combat, design… all the stuff we’re only getting a taste of here. I’m not saying you shouldn’t audition for shows, but you’ll have time for that.It’s not what is going to distinguish you.”

Kurt couldn’t help but look at Noah, who was conspicuously quiet. “Well? Don’t you have an opinion?”

Noah rolled his eyes. “What do you care what I have to say?”

“Uh, a lot,” Kurt stressed, but Noah just scowled and wouldn’t say anything more.

“Don’t worry about Puck,” Chris said at intermission, as they stood in line at the food truck. “He’s just pissed off because he hasn’t heard back from the AMDA guy. What does he care? He’s got one more year. He can come back to Usdan and intern with Bryce for summer camp next season.”

Kurt watched Chris’s confident face carefully. “How about you? Are you worried about next year?”

“Me? No way. I’ve got tricks up my sleeve you wouldn’t believe.” Chris waved him off. “Forget about it. If I get desperate, I can always do porn? Kidding.”

Anthony didn’t smile at Chris’s joke, either. They both watched him walk through the crowd back to their seats, drawing attention wherever he went without trying.

“It’s hard to tell when he really is kidding,” Kurt said to Anthony.

“Almost never,” Anthony said. There was no way to mistake the way he was watching Chris.

“You could ask him out, you know.”

Anthony sighed. “I really don’t like being last pickings. I’m better than that.”

The show ended, if not with a standing ovation, at least with a solid round of applause. The three of them gathered the remnants of their dinner and walked slowly back to the subway station.

“What did you think?” asked Chris.

“Amazing,” Kurt said. “Not just the show, but being here. Camp is really great, but I think even I can tell the difference between pretend and real life. I’m ready to be in this city, for real. This is where I belong.”

Anthony nodded, smiling. “Apply for a conservatory or college, Kurt. That’s the way to go. You can do this.”

Buoyed by Anthony’s encouragement, he reached for Noah’s hand, but Noah crossed his arms and wouldn’t take it. Kurt tried not to glare at him, but it wasn’t easy. They ignored each other the whole drive back to Usdan.

Chris dropped them off in front of Laura Keene. Kurt offered to come with him to park his car, but Chris refused.

“Unless you need someplace to be? Asher and Puck are rehearsing in your room.”

Kurt considered him carefully. “Depends on what you’re offering.”

Chris shrugged. “I think we’ve established you don’t want that from me, Kurt.”

“No, but Anthony does.”

He rolled his eyes. “Anthony’s a diva, even if he’ll never admit it. I don’t have the energy for what he wants. He’s as bad as Puck, in his way.”

Kurt fixed Chris with a look. “You know, sometimes I really don’t understand you.”

“What’s not to understand? I’m not looking for a commitment in another state. And the last thing I need is to hook up with a rich boy who thinks he wants to be my sugar daddy, but really just wants someone to take care of _him._ I’m looking out for one person: me.” He grinned at Kurt’s expression. “And you’re one to talk. Your diva wasn’t happy with you today.”

“He wasn’t happy with _you,_ either.” Kurt sighed, waving him back into his car. “All right, I’m going to do my best to figure out what’s bothering him. And you? You think you can manage to find something to do tonight?”

“Oh, trust me,” said Chris, smiling. “I have plenty of things to keep me occupied.” 

Kurt found Asher alone in their room. He looked startled to see Kurt. “You’re back already?”

“Just a few minutes ago. I thought you were rehearsing.”

“I thought we were, too. Puck just sent me a text saying he wasn’t going to make it tonight.” He looked concerned. “He’s been hard to pin down all week. Is something going on?”

“I wish I knew. I’m not usually one to chase him down, but… based on what he said tonight, I think he wants some chasing.”

“Well, if you decide you need someplace to be alone together, for whatever reason, I can probably crash with Bethany. Good luck?”

Peyton hadn’t seen Noah either. A string of texts to Anthony, Chris, and Grace turned up nothing. Finally Kurt took a walk in the dark toward Jerome Robbins, and about halfway there, he spied Noah sitting on the concrete step outside the little theater, smoking a joint. Noah didn’t make eye contact as Kurt sat down beside him.

“Are you going to say it’s a free world if I ask if I can sit here?”

“If it were a free world, I’d have a lot better luck getting weed.” He pinched it out and set it on the step.

“Thanks.” He touched Noah’s arm. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but… it would help if I knew why you were mad.”

“I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad at anybody except myself. I can’t even be mad at my dad anymore. Now it’s all on me. Me and my stupid feelings.” He snorted, and in a bitter voice, recited:

_I leave myself, my friends and all, for love.  
_ _Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphosed me,  
_ _Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,  
_ _War with good counsel, set the world at nought;  
_ _Made wit with musing weak, heart sick with thought._

Kurt licked his lips. “You’re mad at—at love?”

“I’m sick of being affected by it. If I had a choice, I’d turn it all off.” He gestured at Kurt’s hand on his arm. “Even this. What we’re doing… doesn’t it feel so goddamn artificial to you? Pretending at being boyfriends, just like we’re pretending at being actors. It’s a fake camp relationship.”

Kurt didn’t move his hand, though he was stung despite himself. “It’s not fake, Noah.”

But Noah was shaking his head in disgust and regret. “It’s just like last summer, and again over winter break. We’ve played these parts before, Kurt. It wasn’t enough then, and it’s not enough now. You know you deserve better than this. And I—”

“So are you telling me to leave?”

“No,” said Noah, after a minute.

“So what _are_ you—?”

Noah gripped Kurt’s hand, holding it fast to his arm. “I’m telling you never to leave.”

He nodded slowly, feeling his heart clench. _My walking contradiction._ “Okay. I will both not leave and also acknowledge you hate it that I’m here.”

“I don’t hate that you’re here,” said Noah.

“Okay, you hate being in love with me.”

The silence was acknowledgement enough. Kurt didn’t know why it hurt so much; he’d heard it from Noah before. He sighed.

“Last year, I told Quinn that I would have let you go long ago, if I could.” When Noah gave him a reproachful look, he shrugged. “I don’t think I feel like that anymore. We’re both different now. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. I do think about why it might be better for me to be with somebody else, instead of you.” He stroked Noah’s arm. “And I still keep coming back to this. It’s not just because the sex is so good, either.”

“It really is so fucking good,” Noah agreed, almost conversationally, and Kurt smiled.

“Anyway, from what I’ve seen, you’re doing great with your responsibilities and being on time. Whatever else you’re feeling about yourself, or us, I’m impressed.”

Noah didn’t seem to know how to take that comment, but at last he nodded. “Thanks, I guess. Even if it’s not the reason I’m doing it, it does feel pretty good to be able to impress you.”

“You do that every day, in so many ways.” He slid his hand down his wrist, intertwining their fingers, and watched Noah shiver. “Asher volunteered to stay with Bethany tonight, if you want to come to my room. If that wouldn’t be too complicated.”

“Not so complicated that I won’t say yes.” He closed his eyes as Kurt tugged him closer. “Production week coming up. Even sex will be off the table.”

“I remember how it was when you did Glengarry Glen Ross. You would get so tired that you’d fall asleep while I was reading to you.”

“Mmm. I miss you reading to me at night.”

Kurt swallowed the lump in his throat. “We could do that tonight, instead.”

He let out a chuckle. “You meant _too,_ right?” Then he glanced over at Kurt, looking penitent. “Confession time. I already listened to the rest of _Ender in Exile_ , in my truck on the drive to Long Island. I couldn’t wait to hear how it was going to come out.”

He gave Noah a mock scowl. “I guess that means _you’ll_ have to read the parts to me that I missed.”

“Only if _you_ keep reciting sonnets on demand,” Noah countered.

He stood, holding out his hand, and Kurt let him help him to his feet. Then he hugged Kurt, suddenly and fiercely. Kurt let out a squeak.

“I was a jerk today,” he said against Kurt’s ear. “Let me make it up to you?”

 _“What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night,”_ Kurt gasped, laughing, _“so stumblest on my counsel?”_

Noah drew back. His eyes glittered in the single light of the bulb above the door to the little theater.

 _“By a name / I know not how to tell thee who I am.”_ The words flowed from his lips like liquor, as though he had been the one practicing them for the last three weeks and not Chris. _“My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself / Because it is an enemy to thee; / had I it written, I would tear the word.”_

“You’re not my enemy.”

Noah’s smile was enigmatic, but he shook his head. “Not even when I’m not your friend.”

* * *

The next morning, Noah’s phone woke them both up. Noah fumbled off the bed to extract it from the pocket of his jeans, staring bleary-eyed at the screen before dropping it back off the edge.

“Not worth waking up for,” he sighed, although his eyes were open. Kurt leaned in for a kiss, but Noah shied away, sitting up. “I should probably get out of here before Manoj decides he needs to hold me up as an example for all the other rule-breakers.”

Kurt stayed under the covers, watching Noah pull on his t-shirt and jeans. When he began to look for his Henley, Kurt extracted it from beneath the sheets, holding it up. “This needs to go in the wash after what we did to it last night. Trust me.”

“You think I’m going to let you do my laundry?” He reached for it, but Kurt tucked it back under his pillow, and Noah rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. I want it back, though. It’s my birthday shirt.”

Kurt smiled. “I remember.”

They saw Anthony at breakfast, but neither Chris nor Ian was with him. Anthony was scribbling in his notebook.

“Don’t tell me there was homework I forgot,” Noah said, eyeing his work.

“It’s not for camp, it’s for the NYADA Young Playwriter contest. At this point I’m already in, but if I can get an honorable mention or something, that would be worth a mention on my CV, maybe even a tuition credit.”

Kurt slid into the seat adjacent to him, trying to get a look without being totally obvious that he was reading Anthony’s script over his shoulder. He thought about Noah’s half-formed ideas, the ones he’d fleshed out into the beginning of his own play. “Is it for a scholarship?”

“I think there’s some prize money attached if you win, but mostly it’s just an opportunity to get noticed.” Anthony flipped back in his notebook, showing Kurt the list of characters. “Maybe at NYADA I can actually produce it.”

“Could we do it here?”

Anthony shook his head sadly. “When? Production week for Bryce’s shows is brutal, Kurt. This week, this is it, and then we go home. This is the end of Usdan, at least for me.”

“Come on, don’t get all—” Noah’s phone buzzed before he could finish his sentence. Then he read the screen. His face went quickly from annoyed to shocked to stormy. “What the hell, Chris. I swear, I am going to beat the shit out of that fucker.”

“What is it now?” Anthony sounded only vaguely interested, but Noah was already heading for the door. He looked at Kurt and shrugged. “Not my circus.”

“I am willing to let the drama be elsewhere,” Kurt agreed. “Tell me more about your play.”

* * *

Noah didn’t show up for morning classes. When he didn’t come to lunch, either, Kurt walked over to Peyton’s table, but Peyton hadn’t seen him either.

“There’s only a limited number of places people can hide here.” Peyton sounded amused. “Did you try Chris’s room?”

But Ian wouldn’t let him in the door. When Kurt knocked again, he called, “Not a good time, Kurt.”

“He sounded pretty pissed,” Kurt told Asher, “but Ian usually does. Noah was angry about something Chris had done. Now nobody is answering my texts. What do you think is going on?”

“I wish I knew.” Asher thought for a moment, then gestured for Kurt to follow.

They went to the front desk, where Mrs. Brewer, the middle-aged receptionist, was speaking on the phone. She held up her finger in a _wait_ gesture while she finished her call, then hung up with a heavy sigh.

“What can I do for you two boys?”

“We’re sorry to bother you,” said Asher, “but we’re having trouble finding Noah Puckerman. Do you know if he’s on camp grounds?”

She gave them a kind smile. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”

It was so much like what had happened when Kurt made phone calls last year to inquire about Aaron Puckerman’s overdose that he felt a chill of premonition.

“Please,” he begged, “just tell me he’s okay?”

“I really don’t know,” she said. “You’re going to have to be patient. We should know more by this evening.”

“This evening?” Kurt gripped the edge of the counter and glanced at Asher, who looked worried. “Should I be calling his mother?”

But as much as they pestered and cajoled, that was all Mrs. Brewer would tell them. Kurt walked away slowly, feeling more helpless than he had in months.

“I think we should talk to Bryce,” said Asher. “He’s more likely to bend rules than any other adult here.”

Kurt agreed that was true. As they hurried down the path toward Jerome Robbins, he sent one more text to Noah, and one to Chris for good measure. _Where the hell are you?_

Trinity was just coming out of Bryce’s office when they arrived. She looked like she’d been crying. When she saw Kurt, she reached out for his hand, clasping it tight.

“Kurt,” she said, “Chris is in the hospital.”

“Oh my god.” Kurt stared at her. “What happened? Is he okay?”

“He—somebody hurt him. Really badly. He has a concussion and some broken bones, and he—he’s not going to be able to come back to camp.”

As Asher hugged her, Kurt couldn’t help but remember what Noah had said that morning at breakfast. _I am going to beat the shit out of that fucker._

 _Not that Noah would have,_ he thought uneasily—and then, on the heels of that thought: _Would he?_

“When can we go see him?” asked Asher. Then he looked at Kurt in dismay. “Oh, no. _Romeo & Juliet.”_

“That’s not important,” Kurt snapped.

Through the door of his office, he glimpsed Bryce talking to Noah, who looked as sullen as ever. Noah shook his head, and when Bryce said something, he shouted, “Well, he’s lying!”

“I should probably—” Trinity hurried over to close the door to Bryce’s office. “Come on. It _is_ important, and we have a solution. Will you help me get the cast of _Romeo & Juliet_ together? We’ll meet in the dining room. I’d better make the announcement now before the gossip gets out of control.”

It was clearly too late for that. The whole camp was whispering, even the younger kids. They stared at Kurt as he walked into the dining room with the rest of the cast. When Trinity arrived a few minutes later with the director of the camp, Ms. Paige, however, they fell silent.

“This was the quickest way to let everybody know,” said Ms. Paige. “We are sending a notice to your parents to give them the same information. We wanted to let you know about an incident that occurred this morning involving two campers. One camper, Christopher Janssen, sustained injuries and was sent to the hospital. He will not be returning to camp. The police are not involved, and no charges have been brought against any other campers.”

 _Against any other campers,_ Kurt thought. _Meaning they may have been brought against one camper._ But then, Noah and Bryce entered the room together, and he immediately felt better. _They wouldn’t let Noah walk around campus if they really thought he was_ —he felt sick to even think it— _a danger to others?_

“Who’s going to play Romeo?” called a camper. 

Ms. Paige turned to face him. “Since Chris, who was cast in the role of Romeo, will not be able to perform his part, Noah Puckerman has agreed to step in as his replacement.”

Kurt felt a slow wash of dizziness pass over him, and realized Asher was gripping his arm. A low mutter filtered through the room as everyone turned to look at Noah. He crossed his arms and glared back at them. More than a few campers looked angry, but nobody said anything, and eventually the muttering subsided.

“Joel Ramos will assume Noah’s part of Tybalt,” Ms. Paige went on. “Now, Chris is not yet able to receive calls, but as soon as the hospital permits, we will be facilitating contact with him. Until then, you may drop off letters and get-well cards at the front desk to be delivered by a member of the staff.”

Kurt wanted to look for Anthony, wanted to talk to Noah, wanted to do anything other than stand where he was, but he wasn’t sure how to begin any of them. 

“Kurt,” Asher said. “Do you want to go back to our room? It’s almost time for class.”

He swallowed experimentally. “No, I—I’m okay.”

He let Asher lead him to the door, past the watchful eyes of other members of the cast. Nobody seemed to know what to say to Noah, who stood apart, close to Bryce. Noah avoided his eyes as the two of them walked away together.

“What do you think happened?” Asher asked.

“I’m not going to try to guess,” Kurt replied. But in his heart, he knew he was doing just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noah quotes here from [Two Gentlemen of Verona](https://www.sparknotes.com/nofear/shakespeare/twogentlemen/page_6/) (as he has done before), act 1 scene 1.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters encompass a rehearsal of Bryce Coleman’s production of Romeo and Julian from start to finish. I attempted to quote only enough of the Shakespeare to convey the storyline and essential scenes, but it is still ridiculously long, and may be challenging to follow if you are not already familiar with the play. As much as I enjoy the Luhrmann movie, it is much truncated. You can watch the 2014 Orlando Bloom Broadway production on the Broadway HD channel on Amazon, if you pay for it. The [2013 Carlei movie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oMVxhnpoKK0) is available on Youtube for free.
> 
> At the very least, you may wish at several points to refer to the [original script to Romeo and Juliet](http://shakespeare.mit.edu/romeo_juliet/), or perhaps you would prefer [a plain text interpretation side by side with an original script](https://www.litcharts.com/shakescleare/shakespeare-translations/romeo-and-juliet/).
> 
> Last caveat about R&J: I do not teach British literature, nor have I ever performed this show, so forgive me any errors in analysis, interpretation, or staging.
> 
> There is no greater confusion in this story about names and identity than Kurt and Noah experience in these two chapters. Please know every choice of which name to use for whom (throughout the whole story, really, in every scene) is deliberate. 
> 
> -amy

Noah successfully avoided talking to Kurt for the rest of the afternoon.Bryce, Noah, and Anthony were all absent from masterclass. Trinity had them run through some familiar small group activities, but no one was really focusing very well on them. The gossip about Chris ranged from disturbing to profane, and a lot of it involved speculation about Noah.

At least some of the concerns were easy to dismiss. At break, they were joined by Teresa, one of Trinity and Ian’s close friends.

“How can Bryce expect him to learn the part of Romeo that quickly?” she asked. “Opening night is in five days.”

“He already knows it,” said Kurt. “Every word.”

Teresa looked justifiably skeptical, but Asher added, “Even if he doesn’t know all of it, he memorizes really fast. I don’t know what Bryce is going to do about preparing for _Earnest_ if Puck has to do blocking rehearsals for two shows in the same week, but honestly, if anybody can do it, it’s Puck.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little suspicious, though?” Teresa shook her head. “Ending up with _both_ lead roles? Especially after what he did to Ian.”

Kurt shook his head. “What… did he do to Ian?"

She looked surprised. “Three summers ago, I think? Puck made it his personal mission to make life a living hell for Ian. Everything from practical jokes to outright ridicule.”

“That was _Ian?”_ Kurt jerked his head up. Across the room, Ian frowned at them, and Kurt lowered his voice again. “Chris told me that story, but… he never told me it was Ian.”

“It’s not a secret. Although I don’t think he enjoys having Puck back at camp. I know he’s your boyfriend, Kurt, but I don’t think anybody really likes him all that much, no matter how good an actor he is.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, during which Kurt thought about fifty things he could say, most of them mean to at least one person, but eventually he settled on, “That was a really horrible thing he did to Ian.”

Asher stayed close by Kurt as the class ended.

“Do you want me to come with you to rehearsal?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t need a bodyguard, Asher.” Kurt shook his head in annoyance. “You’ve been rehearsing with him three nights a week. Tell me you feel unsafe around him.”

“Honestly?” Asher looked at him steadily. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

They walked out the door and headed in opposite directions on the path, Kurt toward the theater and Asher back to Laura Keene. Asher watched him walk away with the rest of the cast without another word.

On stage, Bryce was sitting downstage left on his customary stool. Noah, Trinity, and Anthony were on stage together, walking through the blocking. As Noah watched and nodded, Trinity pointed at the tape lines on the stage, but when Kurt climbed the steps to the stage, everybody stopped and looked at him.

“You ready to do this?” Noah demanded. “With me instead of him?”

“We’re two actors,” Kurt replied. “We can make the audience believe anything we want. Right?”

Noah frowned, but he nodded. “Just thought I should ask.”

Anthony looked even more wrecked than Kurt felt, but he joined the whole cast on the stage as they gathered. It was hard not to feel safer, surrounded by all the people Kurt had come to trust over the past five weeks.

 _Except you thought Noah was one of them,_ he reminded himself.

Everyone kept sneaking glances at Noah, but Noah’s attention was on Trinity.

“Tonight’s the stumblethrough,” she said. “The goal is to see how it feels when we put all the scenes together, as well as to time the total length of our production. It’s not going to be clean, but that’s okay; just don’t stop. Any questions?”

“Any word about Chris?” asked Grace.

Trinity shook her head. “Any questions about the _show.”_

“What if I forget my lines?” asked Joel nervously. He was the freshman taking over Noah’s part of Tybalt. 

“Normally in a stumblethrough we wouldn’t be pausing for any reason, but obviously things are going to be a little different tonight. Just say _line_ and I’ll feed it to you. Puck, I’ll call out the blocking for you. The rest of you, don’t let the changes throw you or alter your pacing.” She gave them an encouraging smile. “Trust me: you’ve been practicing, and even if you don’t know it yet, you’ve got this. Places.”

Kurt moved to his place in the semi-circle, ready to recite the prologue as part of the chorus.

“Stand next to me,” he murmured to Noah, gesturing to the open space.

Kurt took Noah’s hand as Grace took his other one, and was taken aback as he felt Noah shaking. He sucked in a breath and turned toward him.

“Don’t,” Noah said, cutting him off, staring at the stage. He was almost begging. “Don’t say anything. Just let me do this.”

Kurt wished he could pause the situation around them long enough to pull Noah close and kiss away his desperation, to tell him how amazing he was, that Kurt had no doubt in his mind that Noah would be able to pull off this role. But there was nothing close to enough time to accomplish that before they began. All he could do was nod, and squeeze Noah’s hand, and take a few long, slow breaths through his nose before Trinity called, “Curtain.”

“Two households, both alike in dignity…” they all said in unison. Noah recited the opening words of the opening chorus right alongside them. His delivery was quiet and understated, but Kurt knew he was listening to the way they were doing it, and would do it precisely that way the next time. He felt, not for the first time that summer, a rush of pride in Noah’s skill.

As Peyton and a junior named Adam conducted the opening comedic dialogue between Sampson and Gregory, Noah retreated to the wings to stand next to Oliver, the sophomore playing Benvolio. Kurt was close enough to hear them whispering about their upcoming scene.

“So Benvolio’s already aware of Romeo’s thing for dudes.” Noah raised an eyebrow. “But he never really comes clean about who _he’s_ into?”

Oliver definitely looked a little nervous to find Noah standing that close to him, but he nodded. “Benvolio’s the first one to figure Romeo out, though he doesn’t really know for sure until Romeo tells him, in his—uh, _your_ first scene. And Benvolio might kind of like Romeo, but… I mean, he’s really in love with Mercutio, right?”

“Okay. Thanks.”

They watched Joel, the replacement Tybalt, scowl as he approached the skirmish between the men of Capulet and of Montague. Oliver entered the scene from the wings to confront him.

The fight scene choreography was rough, but Kurt’s attention was on Noah, standing offstage. As Quentin, the tall junior playing the part of the Prince, informed the assembled Montagues and Capulets that they had better stop fighting or be put to death, Kurt watched Noah’s expression gradually shift, losing every bit of its familiar cocky tension. It was fascinating to witness. By the time Lord and Lady Montague came in looking for their son, Noah’s posture, his manner, his entire being was different. He had become Romeo.

“Good morrow, cousin,” said Oliver-as-Benvolio as Romeo approached.

Romeo looked around himself with complete bewilderment. “Is—is the day so young?”

Benvolio smirked. “But new struck nine.”

“Ay me,” Romeo murmured. “Sad hours seem long.”

It wasn’t exactly the way Chris had played Romeo, but Oliver seemed to handle Noah’s stylistic changes just fine. And whenever Noah got the blocking wrong and ended up standing in the wrong place, Trinity would call, “Right three,” or “Down two,” and Noah would immediately adjust his position without missing a line.

Romeo’s first conversation with Benvolio was a revealing one, full of contradictions. “Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! / This love feel I, that feel no love in this.” Romeo shook his head, running a hand over his forehead, and glanced at Benvolio with a glum sigh. “Dost thou not laugh?”

“No, coz, I rather weep, at thy good heart’s oppression.” Benvolio regarded Romeo with wary concern. “Tell me in sadness, who is that you love?”

Romeo’s eyes flicked across the stage as he hesitated, and averted his eyes. “In sadness…” Kurt watched him swallow, then glance back up at Benvolio. “I love not a woman.”

Benvolio paused, taking this in. He nodded slowly. Then he offered Romeo a tiny smile, and replied, “I aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved.”

Romeo’s face flushed with relief as he let out a breathy laugh. It was as convincing a coming-out scene as any Kurt had ever witnessed.

As Romeo described “fair Reginald” to Benvolio, employing that deceptively intimate tone that still somehow managed to carry across the theater, Kurt was reminded of the first scene they’d performed together from _The Merchant of Venice,_ last year in Mr. Tracy’s British literature class. Noah had sounded just that way when he’d played Bassanio, describing the love he felt for Portia—and it had prompted in Kurt the same mad feeling of jealousy.

 _About a fictional person,_ Kurt reminded himself, _loving another fictional person._ He had to roll his eyes.

In the next scene, Bryce had recast the suitor Paris as “Alice.” An older noblewoman petitioning Lord Montague for Romeo’s hand in marriage was a bit archaic, given the contemporary setting, but Yvonne played the part well enough. And, Kurt thought, if Romeo had truly been avoiding marriage because he was gay and refused to marry without love, it could have happened that way.

Romeo and Benvolio returned in the next scene, trading jibes and snickering about the servant who couldn’t read the invitation to the Capulets’ party. The two actors had excellent chemistry already. Watching them play their parts, it was easy for Kurt to imagine that Benvolio was harboring a secret crush for his handsome cousin Romeo—or maybe it was just Oliver admiring Noah’s acting.

Benvolio nudged Romeo as the servant departed, relaying his plan for helping Romeo forget Reginald. “At this same ancient feast of Capulet's / Sups the fair Reginald whom thou so lovest. / Compare his face with some that I shall show / And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.”

Romeo looked startled. “One fairer than my love!” He snorted, shaking his head. “The all-seeing sun / Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. Uh—” He cleared his throat, glanced up at the directors, and he was abruptly Noah again. _“His_ match.”

“Go on,” said Bryce, waving his hand.

Oliver smiled sadly. "Tut, you saw him fair, none else being by / Himself poised with himself in either eye, / But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd / Your gentleman’s love against a maid / That I will show you shining at this feast, / And he shall scant show well that now shows best.”

Noah’s brows went down, as though he was about to argue with Oliver about this. Kurt could almost hear his complaint: _You actually think beer goggles are going to make chicks look good to me by comparison?_ Finally he sighed.

“I’ll go along, no such sight to be shown,” he said, with obvious reluctance. As Oliver went offstage ahead of him, he turned to the audience, biting his lip. “But to rejoice in splendor of mine own.”

Kurt was so occupied watching Noah that he almost missed his entrance. Thankfully, Bethany, playing Julian’s nurse, happened to say his prompt a little extra loudly: “Where’s this boy? Where’s Julian?” and Kurt hurried on in time, giving his irritated reply: “How now! Who calls?”

Most of Julian’s introductory scene required Kurt to stand around rolling his eyes and being embarrassed by his nurse talking about things like weaning him when he was a baby and how he fell on his face as a child. Later, he had to demonstrate his unease for his mother’s consideration of Lady Alice, who’d come looking for his hand in marriage.

“Tell me, my dear Julian,” asked Grace-as-Lady Capulet hopefully, “How stands your disposition to be married?”

Bryce had chosen to make Julian sixteen instead of thirteen, but even at this advanced age, Kurt felt justified in making a face as he retorted, “It is an honor that I dream not of.”

Kurt also appreciated being given license to play up the teenage insolence angle instead of being expected to be a dutiful child, as Juliet was usually portrayed. It made the scene more fun to do—but more importantly, it made Julian’s conflict with his overprotective, conservative parents all the more poignant.

“Speak briefly,” said his mother, “can you like of Alice, love?”

“I’ll look to like, if looking liking move,” Kurt replied balefully, “but no more deep will I endart mine eye.” At his mother’s anxious glare, added, “Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.” As though it were propriety that was guiding his reluctance to marry!

Romeo and Benvolio were joined in the street by their brash friend Mercutio, all carrying flashlights, on the way to the Capulet’s costume party. Anthony played a pitch-perfect Mercutio, not leaning too hard on the dick jokes that peppered his long speech about partying and dreams, but Kurt thought it was Benvolio who stole the scene, reacting to Mercutio’s witty repartee with silent, lovesick admiration.

Romeo stayed to himself, professing his contentment to “hold the torch” while everyone else would dance. He did drink from the flask that Benvolio passed around before they went to the party. Every time Mercutio flirted with Romeo, Benvolio got a little more desperate and encouraged them both to drink more. By the time they entered the party, it was obvious all three were more than a little intoxicated.

Kurt’s favorite bit of interplay was when Benvolio and Mercutio, in the course of their jibes, came face to face, then broke out laughing as they attempted to go around one another. Instead of moving, Benvolio bowed, and Mercutio grabbed him in a brief, joking waltz that left Benvolio breathless and yearning after his kinsman. Romeo watched the interaction, flashlight in hand, supplying a kind of spotlight as they danced, but when Benvolio was revealed to be clearly embarrassed by his fit of emotion, Romeo relented and turned his flashlight elsewhere.

For the first half of the party, both Romeo and Julian were on the stage together, but Bryce’s stage directions had them continually passing by without noticing one another. Kurt had never seen the staging from the audience, of course, being part of it himself, but in his mind’s eye, he could see the way the two characters moved in symmetry. Since it was a costume party, Romeo would be dressed as a pirate, and Julian would wear a glow-in-the-dark skeleton costume. For now, this not being a dress rehearsal, Kurt simply wore a black hoodie to simulate the cowl of his costume.The black and white contrast of their two outfits would make it easy to find them among the other garish colors on the stage, and lighting was used to good effect to make each of them stand out as they mirrored one another’s movement. Each also continued to imbibe, becoming more and more obviously drunk.

And then, as Julian was flirting with another guest dressed as a knight, the action on the stage ceased, except for Romeo. One spotlight shone on Julian, frozen on one side of the stage, and a second on Romeo on the other side as he performed his monologue. Kurt could not see Romeo the way he was facing, but he could hear Noah’s hoarse, astonished voice speaking. He sounded lovestruck again—except this time, he realized with tingling arousal, Romeo was talking about Julian. About _him._

“Did my heart love till now?” Romeo whispered. “Forswear it, sight! / For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.”

Movement returned to the stage as the cast resumed their revels. Joel playing Tybalt attempted to beat Romeo up and toss him out of the party for being a Montague and daring to show up, but Curtis as Lord Capulet instructed Tybalt to leave him alone.

While Tybalt’s argument with Lord Capulet continued, Julian began to notice handsome Romeo pass by, watching him as he made his way across the room to the bar to get a drink. Each time Romeo attempted to catch Julian’s eye, however, Julian looked away. This went on for Tybalt’s entire scene, until finally, suddenly, their eyes met across the room. Noah froze, his eyes wide, as Julian caught him looking.

 _No, not Noah; it’s Romeo,_ Kurt thought, staring back at him. But in that moment, it really _did_ feel like it was simply Noah, his expression so much more vulnerable than anyone but Kurt ever got to see.

Romeo began to push his way through the crowd, trying to get to Julian, but people in the crowd seemed to arrive just in time to thwart him, moving across his path and blocking his way with each step. For a while, passage appeared impossible.

At long last, Romeo emerged from the midst of the party, face to face with Julian. The rest of the stage was still vibrant with movement, but Kurt knew all eyes would be on the two of them.

Romeo glanced behind him, making sure neither Tybalt nor anyone else was watching them. Then he opened his mouth—and paused.

Kurt glanced at Trinity, wondering if he should prompt for a line. But then Romeo appeared to summon his courage and crossed in front of Julian, moving further downstage and onto the proscenium.

It wasn’t what the stage directions prompted Noah to do, but Julian took Romeo’s lead. He glanced behind him as Romeo had done, to be sure they were alone. When he joined him downstage, Romeo weaved a little, almost falling off the stage, and without thinking, Kurt held out a hand to catch him. Romeo grasped it, staring into his face.

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand / This holy shrine,” Romeo said in the earnest manner of the very drunk, “the gentle fine is this: / My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand / To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

Kurt gaped at him, then laughed in surprise. They were the words Romeo was supposed to say, it was true. But in that moment, Kurt could only remember Noah, kneeling naked over him as he spoke those same lines weeks ago, while he was attempting to teach Kurt Juliet’s motivation. It felt like such a long time had passed since then.

As Julian laughed, Romeo let go of his hand and backed away in embarrassment. Julian felt a sting of dismay. Romeo must certainly have thought he’d read Julian incorrectly to be laughed at like that. _He thinks I’m not gay after all. That I’m not interested._

Before Romeo could go too far, Julian called, “Good pilgrim,” and Romeo immediately turned back around. “You do wrong your hand too much, / Which mannerly devotion shows in this.” He held out both hands in a _whoa_ gesture, then turned them palm-up, reaching for Romeo. “For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, / And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.”

Romeo licked his lips, then ran his eyes over Julian from head to toe. The action made Julian shiver and catch his breath. At his reaction, Romeo’s smile grew at once both more hopeful and more daring. He took Julian’s hands, drawing him in to loop both hands around his waist. They swayed together, their hips colliding, like they were dancing to the music filtering out from the party.

“Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”

“Ay, pilgrim, lips,” Julian agreed, teasing, “that they must use… in prayer.”

Romeo hooted amusement at the innuendo. He steepled his hands together in mock prayer, his face pouting and pleading. Julian giggled—then gasped in shock as Romeo knelt in front of him. His hands slithered down the front of Julian’s sweatshirt and came to rest in the waistband of his pants.

“O, then, dear saint…” he murmured, “let lips do what hands do.”

A voice from across the stage said, “Whoa.”

Before Julian could speak a word of protest, Romeo was grinning wickedly up at him.

“They _pray,_ grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.” _Of course they pray; what did you think I meant?_

By now, Noah’s interpretation of the scene was so far removed from what Bryce’s stage directions told them to do that Kurt wondered if he should stop, but neither Trinity nor Bryce was saying anything. He stared down at Romeo, waiting on his knees—essentially begging Julian to let him blow him, right there on the back porch of his parents’ house.

It was pretty clear drunk Julian would have let him, but _Kurt_ was not about to, not on stage, in front of the parents of a hundred campers. Instead, he gave him the finger while Romeo snorted laughter.

When Julian tried to tug him to his feet, Romeo shook his head, still smiling up at him.

“Oh, saints do not move?” Julian said, raising his eyebrows. “Hmm. Though grant for prayers' sake.”

Romeo drew Julian down beside him, until they were both crouching on the ground. He framed Julian’s face with both hands. “Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take.”

He kissed Julian thoroughly, smiling as Julian let out a surprised moan, then leaned back with a satisfied nod.

“Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.”

Julian touched his own mouth. “Then have my lips the sin that they have took.”

“Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!” Romeo leaned forward until he toppled over to land upon Julian, both of them laughing. “Give me my sin again.”

This time Romeo swept Julian’s hood off to run a hand through his hair. Julian stared up at Romeo, kneeling over him, and smiled in drunken pleasure. He balled his fist in Romeo’s shirt collar and hauled him down until they were nose to nose. “You kiss by the book.”

“Young sir,” called Julian’s nurse from within the party.

Immediately Romeo scrambled off Julian, helping him to his feet. They both staggered apart, gasping with laughter and loudly shushing one another. Romeo pressed his back flat against the wall, hiding himself from the sight of Julian’s annoyed nurse, who appeared just feet away.

“Your mother craves a word with you.”

Julian followed his nurse, glancing backward over his shoulder at Romeo with a smile. Romeo smiled after him, his eyes alit with amusement and desire. He took a few stumbling steps toward the house. Eventually he caught up to the nurse.

“What is his mother?” he demanded.

“Marry, bachelor,” she said, frowning, “his mother is lady of the house.”

From across the stage, Kurt watched as the excitement and pleasure, so plain in Romeo’s face, drained away, leaving only dismay. He wanted to demand _how do you do that?_ But he schooled his own face, tucking his hair back into his hood as Julian longingly watched Romeo and his friends get ready to depart.

“What's he that follows there, that would not dance?” Julian asked his nurse. “Go ask his name.” He drummed his fingers against his leg. “If he be married / My grave is like to be my wedding bed.”

Kurt had decided Julian had some experience with married men already, but this was the first time he’d ever wanted something more than a quick roll in the hay. Finding out the answer to the question _so, is he married?_ felt more fraught than it had the last twenty times he’d asked in this scene.

His nurse hurried back to him, looking scandalized.“His name is Romeo—and a _Montague.”_

Julian put his hand to his chest, feeling the weight of the truth. He closed his eyes. “Prodigious birth of love it is to me / That I must love a loathéd enemy.”

As Kurt exited stage right to where Noah and Oliver were standing with Anthony, the rest of the cast formed the semi-circle to perform the chorus’s opening of Act II.

“He could have, but he didn’t,” Noah was saying to Anthony, who looked apoplectic.

“Kurt, tell Puck he can’t simulate fellatio on stage, _”_ Anthony said through gritted teeth. “At _summer camp.”_

Kurt raised an eyebrow to Noah, but who was already scowling and turning away. “It was—okay, yes, a little over the top, but…”

“Places,” called Trinity.

They all hurried away except for Noah, who would not even look at him.

“I thought it was inspired,” Kurt said.

Noah clenched his fists. Then he sighed. “He’s right, though.”

“No, not that, I mean… Romeo and Julian going outside to make out. I could almost see that screen door banging behind me when you pulled me stage left.” He touched Noah’s shoulder, but Noah jerked his arm away. “I hope Bryce lets us keep it.”

“Look, would you go the fuck away and let me get into character?” he snapped.

Kurt took a step backward, feeling the breath come quick and shallow between his lips.

“Sorry,” he whispered, and fled.

The sudden sick feeling in the pit of his stomach left him barely able to focus on the scene between Mercutio and Benvolio outside the orchard wall, and it was his favorite. _In character._ How could he have been so stupid to mistake what Noah was doing for anything other than what it was? He was acting, plain and simple. Whatever he was saying or doing, it had nothing to do with him. Not with _Kurt._

But acting: that was what he was here for, too, wasn’t it? He’d said as much to Asher and Chris. He wasn’t at Usdan to get laid; he was here to perform. If he was only able to do that when he was feeling good, or in love with his partner—or, worse, when his partner was in love with him—what kind of an actor could he claim to be, anyway?

He climbed the ladder and positioned himself just inside the second-floor window above the Capulet’s orchard, into which Romeo would tumble. For the hundredth time that day, he thought about Chris at the hospital, and felt a pang of desperate unease.

“Spot on Julian,” called Trinity, followed by, “spot on Romeo.”

The contrast of the spotlights made the rest of the auditorium recede into darkness, but Kurt could still see the figure sitting on top of the orchard wall across from the balcony. He looked exhausted, a little wobbly—but he was undoubtably Romeo.

“He jests at scars that never felt a wound.” Romeo peered over the wall to the right, where Benvolio and Mercutio were looking for him. He ran his hands over his face, scrubbing tired eyes, then turned to the left to gaze at Julian’s balcony. “Can I go forward when my heart is here? / Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.” He squinted suddenly, shielding his eyes as Julian opened the door to the balcony, letting the light spill out into the night. “But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?” He dangled his feet over the wall, weaving back and forth, mesmerized by the brightness he saw. “It is the east… and Julian is the sun.”

Kurt paced back and forth on the small balcony, struggling to get back into character. At least his consternation served Julian’s mood well enough. He put a hand to his forehead, rubbing it as though it ached. No doubt, if he’d really had that much to drink.

“See, how he leans his cheek upon his hand!” Romeo made a tentative whimper. “O, that I were a glove upon that hand / That I might touch that cheek!”

“Ay, me,” Julian groaned.

“He speaks!” Romeo startled back, nearly falling off the wall. Someone laughed offstage. He clambered to his feet, balancing precariously on the wall on one foot as he leaned forward. “O, speak again, bright angel!”

“O Romeo…” Kurt sighed in frustration, appealing to the night. “Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? / Deny thy father and refuse thy name; / Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love / And I'll no longer be a Capulet.”

Romeo was practically horizontal at this point, straining to listen. “Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

Kurt launched into his monologue, in which he declared roses might smell as sweet by any other name, but it was almost drowned out by the laughter of the cast in the wings. They were reacting to Romeo’s acrobatic comedy routine as he attempted to make his drunken way down to the ground.

“Noah,” said Bryce, gently.

Noah froze where he was, then hopped down to the stage. He didn’t look at Bryce. “Pulling too much focus?”

“A bit.”

“Got it.”

“Moving on. Kurt, from _Romeo, doff that name.”_

Kurt said the line mechanically, but Noah was somehow, immediately, Romeo again. He staggered toward the balcony and leapt onto the picnic table, putting his head even with Kurt’s knees, which dangled between the posts of the balcony’s fence. Kurt jerked back with a little shriek as Romeo appeared before him. He tried for the same motion Romeo had made on top of the wall, but he just felt wooden and fake doing it.

”I take thee at thy word,” said Romeo, spreading his arms wide in a brash flourish. “Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; / Henceforth I never will be Romeo.”

Kurt peered over the edge of the balcony. “What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night / So stumblest on my counsel?”

Romeo was clearly at a loss. He laughed ruefully. “By a name / I know not how to tell thee who I am.” He stood on tiptoe to touch the balcony’s edge. “My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself / Because it is an enemy to thee.”

Kurt put a tentative hand through the posts to touch Romeo’s fingers. “Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?”

“Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike,” Romeo swore. “With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; / For stony limits cannot hold love out.”

With each line they spoke to one another, Kurt rose up a little higher from his crouch, feeling a little less suspicious and fearful, until by the time he asked Romeo, “By whose direction found'st thou out this place?” he was hanging over the edge of the balcony, leaning on his folded arms.

Romeo answered boldly, “By love,” and Julian smiled for the first time.

“Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,” Julian said, “else would a proper blush bepaint my cheek / For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night. / Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny / What I have spoke, but…” He shrugged and swung his leg over the edge of the balcony. “Farewell compliment!”

As Romeo took a startled step back, snatching his hand away, Julian paused where he was, his legs swinging free. He held open his arms, as Romeo had done, but in challenge.

“Dost thou love me?” he demanded.

When Romeo nodded, Julian tutted and wagged a chiding finger before swaying forward. Romeo rushed forward to catch his apparent drunken fall, but Julian dove over him, executing a perfect drop-and-roll from the balcony onto the stage, and ending up flopped onto his back beside the picnic table. He had worked for hours on that move.

He reached up a hand, and Romeo leapt off the table to help him to his feet. Suddenly, they were nose to nose, just as they had been at the costume party.

“I know thou wilt say _Ay,”_ said Julian, “and I will take thy word.”

Romeo nodded again, more fervently this time. His hopeful smile broke Kurt’s heart, but Julian was having none of it. He put a flat hand in the center of Romeo’s chest.

“Yet if thou swear'st, thou mayst prove false.” He poked his finger into Romeo’s face. “At lovers' perjuries, they say, Jove laughs.”

Romeo clasped Julian’s hand in both of his, drawing it to his lips, then to his cheek, and finally put both hands on his face and kissed him.

Kurt had always thought the way they broke up this monologue with kissing was too melodramatic, but something about today’s pacing—or, okay, maybe the actor—made it feel intense, almost frantic. They grappled for one another, sprawled against the picnic table as Romeo kissed his neck, until Julian finally managed to climb over the table and tear himself away from Romeo’s embrace. He staggered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he faced Romeo from the other side of the yard.

“O gentle Romeo,” he said, panting hard, “if thou dost love… pronounce it _faithfully.”_

He watched confusion, then wariness come over Romeo’s face—and no wonder. Romeo didn’t know what to do with the idea of gay marriage any more than Noah Puckerman did. They both stood still, gazing at one another.

Then Julian shrugged, sighing, and smiled at Romeo again. He put on his best fake flirty queen voice.

“Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, / I’ll frown and be perverse an say thee nay, / So thou wilt woo?”

Romeo laughed, making a face. Julian nodded. He’d suspected as much Romeo wasn’t interested in those kind of games.

“But else, not for the world.” He scratched his ear, embarrassed. “In truth, fair Montague… I am too fond.”

When he held out a tentative hand, Romeo reached across the picnic table and took it. Julian faced him, his confession plain for the audience to see.

“And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light / But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true / Than those that have more cunning to be strange.” He shrugged. “I should have been more strange, I must confess, / But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware, / My true love's passion.”

As Julian begged Romeo’s pardon for being too forward with his declaration of love, Romeo tugged on his hand. At that prompt, Julian stepped up onto the seat of the picnic bench, as Romeo did on the other side. Then they both took another step, until they were standing on the table across from one another.

Without taking his eyes off Julian’s face, Romeo knelt, still holding Julian’s hand. There was no mistaking what _that_ meant. Julian’s eyes widened. _Holy shit, when I said “faithfully,” I didn’t think he was really going to go through with it._

“By yonder blessed moon I swear—” Romeo began.

“Swear not—by the moon!” Julian interrupted frantically. “The inconstant moon / That monthly changes in her circled orb? Lest thy love prove likewise variable.”

Romeo wasn’t giving up. “What _shall_ I swear by?”

“Do not swear at all!” Julian tore his hand away, staring down at Romeo in desperation. He grasped his arms with his hands, turning away, but Romeo immediately got to his feet and wrapped arms around Julian from behind.

Julian’s eyes closed as Romeo held him, rocking him slightly back and forth. The shushing sounds and calming words Romeo was whispering into his ear sounded an awful lot like the ones Noah had said when he’d visited Kurt in his basement, all those years ago. It was working just as well on Julian.

He sighed, sinking back into Romeo’s embrace. “Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self / Which is the god of my idolatry, / And I'll believe thee.”

“If my heart's dear love—” Romeo began again, whispering into his ear, and Julian jerked away with a groan.

“Do _not_ swear,” he warned again. “Although I joy in thee, / I have no joy of this contract to-night: / It is too rash, too—unadvised, too sudden…”

With each word Julian spoke, Romeo’s hand slid further down his front, until it paused on his stomach, his thumb resting on Julian’s zipper. Julian turned his head to look at Romeo’s face over his shoulder, with barely enough breath to say his lines.

“Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be / Ere one can say 'It lightens.’”

Now Romeo’s hands were mapping Julian’s body in a frankly pornographic manner. When Romeo’s teeth found his neck, Julian tipped his head back and let out a desperate groan. It echoed in the silent theater as Kurt realized exactly how many eyes were on them.

“Sweet,” he said urgently, and then, when there was no response, he added, _“Noah.”_

The name seemed to hit Noah with the force of a blow. He flinched, then he too looked at the empty auditorium in front of them, and then finally at Kurt, his expression quickly devolving into panic.

“Come on,” Kurt whispered fiercely. “Don’t stop now. You can do this.”

Noah hitched a breath, then gave Kurt a little nod. They were several beats late, but still, neither Trinity nor Bryce were saying anything.Kurt pitched his voice to carry, and went on.

“Sweet, good night! / This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath / May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.” He turned, gathering the hands that had rested on his body, and focused on them, giving them a kiss of promise before letting them go.

When he looked up, it was Romeo’s face looking back at him, alight with love and desire. It was almost too much to behold.

 _Your part,_ Kurt told himself firmly. _Play it._

Romeo sighed in frustration. “Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?”

Julian tossed his head, looking him up and down with disdain. “What satisfaction canst _thou_ have tonight?”

“The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine,” insisted Romeo.

He reached out to grab Julian’s hand, but Julian snatched it away.

“I gave thee mine before thou didst request it,” he snapped.

Romeo reached for him a second time, drawing him close before Julian could pull away again. They stood there on the picnic table, centered on the stage, their eyes full of one another. Julian rested his hands on Romeo’s hips. It was as though he was hearing for the first time in his head the meaning of the words he’d spoken, dozens times over, in the past month.

“And yet,” he admitted softly, “I would it were to give again.”

“Wouldst thou withdraw it?” Romeo rested his hands on the small of Julian’s back. “For what purpose, love?”

Julian laughed, making an unequivocal pelvic thrust. “But to be frank, and _give it thee again.”_

Romeo—he couldn’t be sure this time it wasn’t Noah—looked astonished. Then he grinned, his eyes glittering with amusement. Julian smiled back.

“And yet I wish but for the thing I have.” He rested a hand on Romeo’s heart. “My bounty is as boundless as the sea, / My love as deep; the more I give to thee, / The more I have, for both are infinite.”

As Romeo moved to kiss him again, they heard his nurse call from the balcony, “Julian?”

Julian bit his lip, stepping back. He touched Romeo’s lips. “Stay but a little, I will come again.”

He’d practiced this move, too, but it still took some strength and scrambling for Julian to get from the picnic table to the ledge of the balcony. He swung his leg over the rail just as the voice from within called again.

Romeo watched him go in consternation. “O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard. / Being in night, all this is but a dream, / Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.”

Bethany, his nurse, met Kurt on the other side of the balcony door. She turned him around, whispering, “Oh my god, Kurt, you are _killing it._ Go.”

It was jarring to hear her speaking to Kurt, not to Julian, but he gave her thumbs-up, then hurried back out to the balcony again.

“Three words, dear Romeo?”

Romeo spun back around to face Julian, smiling hopefully. Julian gripped the balcony rail and inhaled.

“If… that thy bent of love be honorable…?”

Romeo nodded quickly.

Julian gulped. “Thy purpose… marriage?”

Romeo let out a breathless laugh, but he nodded again, his hand on his heart.

“Then send me word to-morrow, / By one that I'll procure to come to thee, / Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite.” Julian blinked away unexpected tears. “And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay / And follow thee my lord throughout the world.”

“Good sir!” called his nurse again.

“I come, anon,” he called over his shoulder, but turned back to Romeo with determination. “But if thou mean'st not well, / I do beseech thee to cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief.”

“So thrive my soul,” Romeo vowed.

“Tomorrow I will send.” He stepped back again through the balcony door, beaming. “A thousand times good night.”

He let Bethany turn him again, waiting for Romeo to speak his three lines of monologue. They both watched him through the doorway of the balcony.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think. Yeah.”

She gave his shoulder a little squeeze. “Scene’s almost over. Just a few more lines.”

Romeo had already climbed back onto the wall by the time Julian called to him again. He turned to sit on the balcony, facing Julian in parallel across the stage.

“At what o'clock to-morrow / Shall I send to thee?” asked Julian.

“At the hour of nine.”

“I will not fail.” He gazed across the stage at Romeo. “’Tis twenty years till then.” Then he paused in confusion. “Um… I have forgot why I did call thee back.”

Romeo just grinned at him. “Let me stay here till thou remember it.”

Julian grinned back. “I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, / Remembering how I love thy company.”

“And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,” Romeo agreed gamely, “forgetting any other home but this.”


	16. Chapter 16

It took Romeo and Julian twenty more lines to get to _parting is such sweet sorrow._ Kurt felt it, like the pull and snap of a rubber band, holding them together, only for him to wind up backstage beside Bethany again. She watched him with anxious eyes.

“It’s different,” she said. “From the way Chris does it. Did it. God… I hope he’s okay.”

He realized she was crying, big messy tears, and felt a stab of guilt for not being more preoccupied with the fact that Chris was in the hospital. As he hugged her, Kurt felt the role of Julian melt away, even as he could hear Noah and Ian on the stage together, performing the next scene.

They moved to the edge of the curtain, far enough downstage that they could watch Romeo petitioning Pastor Laurence. Since even in 2010, only one church in all of Italy sanctioned same-sex marriage, a Methodist sect known as the Waldensians, Bryce had decided “Friar Laurence” would instead be a pastor of that sect. Ian really was a very good actor, giving Romeo patient counsel.

“He must hate Noah,” Kurt murmured to Bethany.

“Who, Ian?” She shrugged, standing at his shoulder. “I don’t think he thinks about what happened with Noah much. They’re not kids anymore.”

Romeo, sitting at the pastor’s feet, earnestly talking about his _heart’s dear love,_ certainly did not look like a kid. Watching him speak about marriage with such passion, such convincing enthusiasm, made Kurt feel dizzy.

“He doesn’t want to get married,” he said.

“What?”

“Noah. Puck. He—”

He saw Bethany peering at him with such incredulity that he shut his mouth again.

“You asked Puck to _marry you?”_

“No!” he snapped. “Of course not. I’m going to college next year, and he—he isn’t—”

She gestured impatiently. “He isn’t _what?_ Isn’t going to college?”

“Well, no, he’s not, but that’s not what I mean.”

Kurt didn’t say anything. Pastor Laurence was chiding Romeo for forgetting so soon about Reginald: “Young men's love then lies / Not truly in their hearts, but in their… eyes.” He gave Romeo a knowing glance. 

“You don’t think he’s in love with you?” Bethany persisted.

“No,” Kurt said, “no, he’s—he is.”

She sounded somewhat mollified. “Yeah, at least you know that. Because he _totally_ is.”

“I pray thee, chide not,” Romeo protested to Pastor Laurence. “He whom I love now / Doth grace for grace and love for love allow.”

 _I do,_ thought Kurt, sniffling. _He doth. He really, really doth._

“Kurt.” She tugged on his arm, staring at him in confusion. “What _do_ you mean? What about Puck?”

What could he tell her? He couldn’t say _he isn’t gay,_ because that wasn’t accurate. And he wasn’t about to tell her about Greg and and Noah and therapy, because Noah was a private person, and—

“He doesn’t know what he wants,” he finally said.

She looked at him as though he’d sprouted wings.

“Uh, _yeah,”_ she said emphatically. “He does.”

Kurt just shook his head, closing his eyes, as Trinity called, “Act 2 scene 4, places.”

“You want to take a walk, clear your head? You don’t have to be back until scene 5.”

He usually watched scene 4, in which Anthony wove incredible word-pictures with Shakespeare’s bawdy puns, but he found himself nodding. “I’m just going to get a drink of water.”

It was a long walk out the backstage door and around the building to the front where the water fountain was. He propped open the stage door so he could come back in through the same way, without interrupting the stumblethrough.

Teresa was at the water fountain with Harriet. Kurt paused, out of sight of both girls.

“That’s not what I heard,” Harriet was saying. “Ian said Puck came back from the city that same morning, and he was covered in _blood._ He had to throw away his shirt, it was so bad.”

“God.” Teresa made a face. “I mean, I see his point? Bryce could have given Romeo to Ian, and then Puck would have just played Pastor Laurence. But he gave _Puck_ a second lead instead.”

“Exactly.” Harriet gave her a pointed look. “He didn’t. Leads three years in a row, and this is Ian’s last year, don’t you think he deserves…”

Kurt backed away, the water fountain forgotten. He felt ill. _He had to throw away his shirt, it was so bad._ Even in the shade, it was hot. He tripped on a rock on his way back to the propped door. He didn’t get any water, and he was going to have to do his longest monologue, and _he had to throw away his shirt._

“You’re an actor,” he whispered to himself, pacing back and forth on the path strewn with wood chips. “Make it look good.”

By the time he was back on the stage, tucked into the familiar setting of Julian’s courtyard, it was easy to slide back into the scene, reciting his monologue just as he’d practiced it. He bounced Julian’s soccer ball against the wall, feeling the rhythm of it. The fear and confusion Kurt harbored about Noah was obscured by Julian’s excitement about the prospect of hearing what his nurse had learned from Romeo.

“The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; / In half an hour she promised to return.” He spoke to the audience as though they were there, but although often several of the other actors might have been watching from the house, tonight they were all backstage. The house was silent and empty except for Bryce’s pencil-scratching.

When his nurse did arrive, it took forever to wheedle the answer out of her, but of course, she finally did smile and told him, “Then hie you hence to Pastor Laurence’s house; / There stays a husband to make you a spouse.”

He whooped and whirled her around, laughing in relief while she complained and tutted at him, before jogging off in his sneakers to meet Romeo and Pastor Laurence at his humble home.

Ian gazed at Julian blandly as he arrived. It fit his character, but Kurt couldn’t help wonder, now that he knew more of Ian’s history, how much of it was personal.

“Here comes the lord.” He beckoned Julian in, and Julian ran straight past the pastor and into Romeo’s arms. Pastor Laurence chuckled. “O, so light a foot / Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint.”

“Ah, Julian,” Romeo murmured, kissing him again and again, “if the measure of thy joy / Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more / To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath / This neighbor air, and let rich music's tongue / Unfold the imagined happiness that both / Receive in either by this dear encounter.”

 _You’re the one with the skill to blazon the neighbor air,_ he wanted to say, but he said his lines instead. None of the actual words mattered. They were together, and they were about to get married. It always felt to Kurt at this point in the story that things might actually turn out okay for Romeo and Julian.

 _As though the story was actually supposed to end a different way,_ he thought. He squeezed Romeo’s hand.

“Come on,” said Pastor Laurence, patting their joined hands. “Let’s get you two fuckers hitched.”

“Ian,” Bryce sighed, as the rest of the cast snickered from the wings.

“Sorry,” Ian called back cheerfully.

“I do know it’s the end of the act, and we’re approaching intermission, but please, let’s maintain our focus, shall we?”

“Come, come with me, and we will make short work; / For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone / Till holy church incorporate two in one.” Ian made the sign of the cross. “Sanctioned fornication, hallelujah.”

“All right, that’s enough.” Bryce didn’t sound even a little bit upset as the cast laughed again. “The stopwatch is still going. All of you, come down here for five minutes of notes, and then you’ll get a ten minute break before we go on.”

Most of the cast received few notes, which Kurt guessed, from the reactions of the others, was unusual for a stumblethrough. Bryce interspersed a couple of specific requests between largely positive comments before turning to Noah. He settled his clipboard on his lap and gazed at him in silence.

Noah crossed his arms and watched Bryce warily.

“Well?” he finally said.

“What do you suppose I’ll be telling you?”

Noah sighed, rolling his eyes. “That I went too far?”

“Perhaps not in the way you might think.” Bryce gestured at the stage. “This production of _Romeo & Juliet_ does not deal with the issues of power and politics in quite the same ways that others do. In Shakespeare’s time, the idea that two men might be having sex with one another was not nearly as scandalous as one might think. But we have not chosen to set this play in Shakespeare’s time. It is present day Italy, before the legalization of civil unions. As we know, homosexual activity has been legal in Italy since the 1890s—and, yet, over 85% of people in Italy are Catholic.” He looked at Kurt. “What do you think Julian’s Catholic family might think if they found out Julian was gay?”

“I think they already know,” said Kurt, “but they’re not talking about it.”

He inclined his head in agreement. “And Romeo’s?”

Kurt hesitated, not looking at Noah. “I think they would be surprised. Because he’s… less obvious about it. And I would guess, from their conversation in Act 1 scene 2, that he’s been at least pretending to like girls, whereas Julian hasn’t even tried to pretend.”

“All right, then.” He smiled dryly at Noah. “Your interpretation of Romeo is, shall we say, colorful, but thus far I have not seen anything out of character or inappropriate for the setting. Except, as I have already noted, the descent from the balcony.”

“Yeah.” Noah actually looked a little embarrassed. “I think I just have to practice that to make it less silly.”

“There you are. That’s all I have. Ten minutes before we continue, and not one moment more.” He shooed them away with a wave of his hand before turning to Trinity to discuss their technical notes.

Noah spent the entire intermission deep in conversation with Joel about Tybalt’s upcoming scene, describing the choreography with his hands and his body. Kurt managed to get a drink from the fountain without hearing any more distressing gossip about either Chris or Noah.

Grace came to sit next to him as he waited in the wings for act 3 to begin. “What do you think?”

“It’s amazing,” he said honestly. “To see it all put together like this, all the work everybody’s done.”

She nodded. “It’s intense to do it like this three times in one week, but by the time we get to opening night, it will feel smoother. Less… surprising.”

Grace was far more subtle than Bethany, but Kurt knew she meant Noah. He nodded. “I’m not going to assume there won’t be surprises. This is his first time ever doing this role. He’s not even sure what he’s doing yet.”

“Of course.” She shrugged. “He’ll find his way. But you, too. You’re having to play off him at the same time you’re doing what you’ve practiced. That’s bound to feel confusing.”

“Mmm. And what are _you_ doing next year?”

Grace smiled quizzically. “Next year?”

“You’re a senior, right? Sounds like you should be going into psychology.”

“Maybe social work,” she said, grinning. “Or teaching. _Not_ theater. Sorry, but I actually want to have a stable paycheck.”

“You’ll hear no judgment from me.”

Act 3 began with a juicy, vicious argument between Tybalt and Mercutio that ended with both of them dead. Noah and Joel’s sword work was once again almost nonexistent, but Noah got most of his lines and followed every one of Trinity’s blocking directions. The Capulets ran in at the end to discover Tybalt slain as Romeo escaped, and Quentin as the Prince declared Romeo would be exiled.

Following Julian’s bizarre monologue about cutting Romeo into little stars after he died, Julian’s nurse reported to Julian of Romeo’s plight. Hearing about Romeo’s exile sent Julian into a tizzy of confusion about family loyalty. He gave his nurse a ring to deliver to Romeo, who was now hiding at Pastor Laurence’s house.

 _It’s not how I wanted to give him a ring,_ Julian thought unhappily, watching his nurse depart, _but it’s better than nothing._

That lament with his nurse had always been an intense scene for Kurt to perform, but the scene that followed between Laurence and Romeo was even more heavy. When Romeo raged and cried to Pastor Laurence about the cruel torture of banishment, that death would be preferable to separation from his dearest love, Pastor Laurence accused Romeo of having inappropriately girly feelings. It was the first time Kurt had seen Noah cry on stage. It was harder to take than he would have imagined. Kurt found himself choking up, watching from the wings.

Then Julian’s nurse arrived at Lawrence’s house and produced Julian’s ring. Kurt saw Romeo’s eyes widen as he beheld it. Noah’s skill was such that everyone in the scene, perhaps in the whole theater, held its breath while he took it in his hand, then kissed it tenderly. The touch of the ring to his lips, even from this distance, felt unquestionably intimate. Kurt squirmed.

“How well my comfort is revived by this,” Romeo said hoarsely, blinking away his tears.

The pastor instructed Romeo to go to Julian, to spend the night before escaping to Mantua. Backstage, Kurt climbed the ladder to the balcony in preparation for the next scene, as Lady Alice and Lord Capulet plotted for the Thursday marriage ceremony that would supposedly lift Julian’s spirits.

“Kurt.”

He paused on the ladder, feeling the way Noah’s voice saying his name landed like an impact. _A word and a blow._ He sighed.

“What’s in a name?” he said, trying to joke, but it came out sounding flat.

“You’ll be Julian soon enough.” Noah touched his heel, and he stopped where he was on the ladder. “Are you pissed at me, or what?”

“I don’t know what to think.” He rested his head against the rough wood. “I don’t know what to ask you.”

“No, not—I mean this next scene. How do we play it?”

Kurt looked down at Noah. His mouth was set in a hard line, betraying no emotion. _Either my eyesight fails, or thou look’st pale._

“I guess we’ll have to see how it goes,” Kurt said.

Noah shook his head. “Look, just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”

“If that were true—” Kurt cut himself off before he could finish that statement. “Fine. Chris and I always played it loving. Why, you think I should be pissed?”

“If you want to be consistent, yeah. Julian’s been annoyed as shit for the whole play.” He gave him a pointed look. “Even if it’s not really about Romeo at all.”

“Even if it _is,”_ Kurt retorted.

Noah followed him up the ladder to the narrow platform inside the door. There was nowhere to stand but directly beside one another. Kurt wasn’t about to say _Chris always waited on the ladder._ Instead, he grasped Noah’s face in his hands and kissed him, hard. Noah whimpered a little in surprise, but he didn’t hesitate to kiss back.

“We just had a whole night of sex,” said Kurt against his cheek. “Probably we did it again after we woke up. Maybe it’s the last time we’re ever going to see one another, but… why would I be pissed?”

“Because.” Noah brushed his lips across Kurt’s ear. It made Kurt’s legs so shaky, he had to clutch at Noah’s arms to keep from falling off the platform. “Because it’s never been this good before. Because you’re not at all sure it’s ever going to be like this again.”

“And you’re so sure you’re the only one feeling that way?” he demanded. He leaned back to look hard into Noah’s tense face. “What, you think I don’t wonder that every day?”

“You’re going to _college,”_ Noah said. He sounded exhausted. “The world is full of smart, talented guys who are going to fall in love with you, and wherever you end up, you’re going to meet a whole fucking bunch of them.”

“Guys who are better for me than you are, is that what you mean?”

Noah turned his head to look out the balcony window. “Out of sight, out of mind, Kurt.”

“Right. Because you think it doesn’t matter at all that we’re married now?”

Noah’s eyes flew back to Kurt, wide and shocked. He struggled free from Kurt’s grip. _“We’re_ not—that’s not what—”

“Act 3 scene 4, guys,” Trinity called. “Let’s go.”

Kurt opened the door to the balcony and stepped out. Whatever he was supposed to be doing, he had no idea. He didn’t even know who he was. He just wrapped his arms around himself and hung on, staring out into the middle distance of the empty auditorium—until he felt another pair of arms enfold him from behind, and he started to cry.

“Wilt thou be gone?” he said through shaky tears. “It is not yet near day.”

Lips kissed his cheek. He turned toward them, seeking comfort from whatever source they might come. _How am I to know who is kissing me?_

He gestured at an imaginary tree. “It was the nightingale, and not the lark / That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear.”

“It was the lark, the herald of the morn, / No nightingale.” The voice was soft in his ear. It sounded like Noah, but the words were Romeo’s.

Kurt swallowed and shook his head emphatically. “Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I. / It is some meteor that the sun exhales / To be to thee this night a torch-bearer / And light thee on thy way to Mantua.” He made an attempt at a smile. “Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone.”

Steeling himself, he looked directly into the eyes of the person that stood beside him. They were gentle and calm. He’d seen than look in Noah’s eyes before, so many times, and he’d never known for certain who Noah would be the next time he saw him. Supportive or angry or withdrawn—and didn’t Kurt love him, every way he was, regardless?

Kurt offered a hopeful smile, and received an encouraging one in return.

“Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death. Come, death, and welcome! Julian wills it so.” He hugged Kurt again. “How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day.”

 _Oh._ Kurt swallowed. There was his answer. There was no question who had said those words. Noah would never have agreed with him so readily; he would have argued and denied and stuck to his position, no matter how idiotic it was. This person beside him, this _Romeo,_ who was willing to say or do anything to make Julian happy—this wasn’t Kurt’s Noah. Julian’s rage rose up into his throat.

He put both hands on Romeo’s chest and gave him a little shove. On the balcony, it had the effect of nearly sending him off the edge. Romeo managed to grasp the railing in time, but he was clearly startled.

“It is, it is!” Kurt said angrily. “Hie hence, be gone, away! / It _is_ the lark that sings so out of tune, / Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps.” He crossed his arms and turned his back on Romeo. “O, now be gone; more light and light it grows.” _The light of truth, at last._

“More light and light,” Romeo said, with suspicion; “more dark and dark our woes.”

Kurt wanted to turn around and reassure him, but he knew Julian wouldn’t do that. Julian was absolutely sure this was all going to be done in an instant, and he would never be happy again—but he sure as shit wasn’t going to say that to Romeo. He was going to push Romeo away before being hurt beyond repair.

The nurse put her head through the doorway. “Good sir, your lady mother is coming to your chamber / The day is broke; be wary, look about!”

Julian bowed his head in bitter defeat. “Then, window, let day in… and let life out.”

“Farewell?” Romeo paused, watching, but when Julian stayed where he was, he sighed. “Farewell.”

He swung his leg over the balcony, preparing to jump down, and paused yet again.

“One kiss, and I'll descend,” he pleaded, but Julian shook his head, refusing to kiss him goodbye.

Romeo landed in the center of the picnic table and gazed back up at Julian in sadness.

“I will omit no opportunity / That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.”

Julian sniffed in disdain. “Think'st _thou_ we shall ever meet again?” _Think again, buddy._

“I doubt it not,” Romeo insisted.

“Oh, God,” he muttered in disgust. Julian came to the railing, planting both hands, and bared his teeth as he stared down at Romeo’s earnest face. The hurt and anger weren’t hard to feign now. “I have an ill-divining soul. / Methinks I see thee, now thou art below / As one dead in the bottom of a tomb.”

Romeo blanched visibly. He stumbled back, staring up at Julian in shock, and shook his head in denial at the threat.

Julian laughed, taunting. “Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.”

“And trust me, love,” Romeo whispered, “in my eye so do you. / Dry sorrow drinks our blood.” He turned away, stumbling toward the wall, much as he had done that first night—only now, instead of drunkenness, it was in grief. “Adieu."

Julian almost relented, reaching for him across the courtyard, one last time, but Romeo’s back was to him, and he never saw the gesture. By the time Romeo was over the wall, Julian was crying again.

“O fortune, fortune!” It came out in a roar, just as helpless as a cry for all it was in anger. “All men call thee fickle. / If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him / That is renown'd for faith?” He glanced spitefully at the vacant garden wall. _But how likely is he to stay faithful, really? This is Romeo we’re talking about. He’ll be paired off again in a month._

The door opened again, and Grace stood there, looking uncertainly at him. “Why, how now, Julian?”

“Madam,” he said, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, “I am not well.”

She nodded. “Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? / Well, lad, thou weep'st not so much for his death / As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him: that same villain, Romeo.”

“God pardon him.” He took a shaky breath, staring up at the sky. “I do, with all my heart; / And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart.” To his mother, he added, “Would none but I might ‘venge my cousin's death!”

If Julian was willing to lie to his mother about what was troubling his heart, he definitely wasn’t willing to agree to marry a woman, especially not on Thursday next. His anger broke through the moment she made the suggestion.

“I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam,” he swore, “I will not marry yet; and, when I do / It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, / Rather than _Alice_.” He said her name with disgust, and when his mother drew back in shock, he laughed in her face. “These are news indeed!”

“Here comes your father; tell him so yourself,” his mother snapped back, “and see how he will take it at your hands!”

Julian knew better than to stick around for his father to use as a punching bag. Even as he climbed over the balcony and dropped to the ground, Lord Capulet entered, staring down at him from above.

“Uh,” he said, squinting across the stage, “this isn’t exactly what we had—”

“Roll with it, Curtis,” Bryce called back.

Curtis, who was another of Ian’s friends, glared down at Kurt with very real annoyance. “Making changes during production week? Really?”

“Julian is pissed at the world,” Kurt said. “He’s not about to cave to his father’s demands. Especially now that he’s said, aloud, that he’s married to a man.”

“All right, all right.” Curtis sighed. His scowl lifted as he returned to character. “How now, wife! / Have you deliver'd to him our decree?”

“Ay, sir; but he will none, he gives you thanks.” Grace’s eyes narrowed at Julian. “I would the fool were married to his grave!”

Kurt shivered at the statement. _Better dead than gay._

“Doth he not count him blest, / Unworthy as he is, that we have wrought / So worthy a good lady to be his bride?” Curtis glared down at Kurt. “Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! / You tallow-face!”

“Fie, fie!” Grace said in shock, “What, are you mad?”

“Good father, I beseech you,” Kurt called up, “hear me with patience but to speak a word—”

“Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch!” he spat. “I tell thee / what: get thee to church o' Thursday / Or never after look me in the face.”

“You are to blame, my lord, to rate him so,” scolded his nurse from the doorway.

“Peace, you mumbling fool!” Curtis shouted over his shoulder.

Grace grasped his arm. “You are too hot,” she protested.

All through the terrible ensuing speech issued by Lord Capulet, Kurt could feel Julian in his limbs, itching to climb the wall, to head for Mantua, and never return. He gazed helplessly up at his mother as his father stormed off.

“O, sweet my mother, cast me not away!” he begged. “Delay this marriage for a month, a week.” He thrust his finger, pointing beyond the garden wall to the Capulet tomb. “Or, if you do not, make my wedding bed / In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.”

“Talk not to me, for I'll not speak a word.” Grace’s face was thunderous. “Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.”

As she departed, Kurt collapsed onto the seat of the picnic table, where Julian and Romeo had pledged their love hours earlier. ”Alack, alack, that heaven should practice stratagems / Upon so soft a subject as myself!” He looked up in despair, and saw his nurse standing on the balcony. “What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy? / Some comfort, nurse.”

Bethany sighed. “Faith, here it is. / Romeo is banish'd; and all the world to nothing / That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you; / Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. / Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, / I think it best you married to the countess.”

She watched Kurt anxiously as he rose to his feet.

“She's a lovely lady,” she added.

He schooled his face before turning to look up at her. “Speakest thou from thy heart?”

She nodded emphatically. “And from my soul, too.”

“Well, thou hast comforted me marvelous much.” He laughed uselessly. “Go in: and tell my lady I am gone, / Having displeased my father, to holy church / To make confession and to be absolved.” He turned back to the audience as Bethany departed, leaning heavily on the picnic table. “I'll to the pastor, to know his remedy: / If all else fail, myself have power to die.”

Kurt hurried off the stage as the curtain came down on the end of Act 3. Curtis still looked annoyed, but he touched Kurt’s arm and said, “That was good,” which Kurt thought was big of him.

Kurt had always done the next scene, the one with Pastor Laurence and Lady Alice, as though Julian’s heart were broken. But the confrontation he’d just had with his father made Kurt think Julian was more determined than that. Indeed, he had to wonder about _Romeo’s_ heart. He wondered if Julian had broken it with that last conversation. Had their characters, in effect, switched places?

He approached Pastor Laurence and Lady Alice with more swagger than usual. From the way they regarded him, he thought they could tell.

“Look, sir,” said Alice, “here comes my lord towards your house.” She reached out her hand in greeting. “Happily met, my lord and husband!”

He ignored her hand. “That may be, good lady,” he said, with a frosty look, “when I may be a husband.”

She regarded him blankly. “That may be must be, love, on Thursday next.”

He tossed his head. “What must be shall be.”

“That's a certain text,” muttered Pastor Laurence.

“Poor soul,” consoled Alice, “thy face is much abused with tears.”

“The tears have got small victory by that,” he shot back, “for it was bad enough before their spite.”

She looked startled, and somewhat annoyed, for which he didn’t blame her. “Thou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report.”

“That is no slander, madam, which is truth.”

“My lady,” Pastor Laurence interrupted, “we must entreat the time alone.”

She smiled at them. “God shield I should disturb devotion! / Julian, on Thursday early will I rouse ye: / Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss.” She offered her hand, and although at first he turned up his nose, finally he sighed and pressed his lips to its back.

As soon as she was gone, he turned furiously to Pastor Laurence. “Shut the door!” he hissed. “And when thou hast done so, / Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help!”

“Ah, Julian, I already know thy grief.” The pastor placed a hand on his own heart. “It strains me past the compass of my wits: / I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, / On Thursday next be married to this countess.”

“Tell me not, Pastor, that thou hear'st of this,” he moaned, “unless thou tell me how I may prevent it! / If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, / Do thou but call my resolution wise…” He brandished the plastic dagger he had at his waist. “And with this knife, I'll help it presently!”

“Hold, dear son,” Pastor Laurence said quickly, holding up his hands. “I do spy a kind of hope, / Which craves as desperate an execution. / Hold, then; go home, be merry, give consent / To marry Alice?”

When Julian gave him a confused and reluctant nod, the pastor exhaled and put his hands down, then took the knife, setting it aside. He explained the plan: he would give Julian a drug to make him appear to be dead for two days, and send a letter to explain this to Romeo, and to invite him to come meet Julian at the family tomb upon his awakening.

“And this shall free thee from this present shame,” said the pastor sternly, “if no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear / Abate thy valor in the acting it.”

The plan gave Julian no comfort. There was a sense of expectation, but Kurt knew it was far more about futility than hope.

“Give me, give me!” he demanded, grabbing the vial the pastor held out, and stood tall and fierce in his despair. “O, tell not me of fear!”

Julian returned to confront his parents, but the whole scene was nothing but a lie. As he spoke each line, Julian’s apology to his father and asking his mother for help to select clothes for his wedding, all Kurt could think was how glad he was that his father and Carole weren’t like that. He could tell them anything, and they wouldn’t blame him or yell at him.

 _But that’s not how it is with Noah’s mother,_ he thought, waiting in the wings as the stage managers moved Julian’s bed to the center of the stage. _Or his father. At least Noah remembers it that way. No wonder he’s always so angry at the world._

But was it really like that anymore? He’d heard Aaron Puckerman himself, the way he spoke plainly and honestly to Noah, telling him about himself, his history with Felix. They were going to therapy together, presumably where they did even more talking. His mother had agreed to let them clean the house. Things were changing for Noah, for his family.

Kurt’s head was whirling with all of these thoughts as Bethany joined him on stage. She took his hand briefly, and he smiled at her, with a rush of sentimentality.

“Julian was lucky to have someone like his nurse,” he told her.

She snorted. “Are you kidding? She’s terrible. She told him to marry Alice, even though she knows Julian’s gay.”

“No, but… she actually loves him, for himself. Now I think, maybe, that’s not as common as I used to think it was.”

Kurt loved the monologue in act 4 scene 3, in which Julian reflected on all the possible outcomes of drinking or not drinking the elixir he’d obtained from the pastor. But this time, as he set the dagger down beside his pillow, he wished he could urge Julian: _Just put it in the drawer. Don’t leave it out. You don’t have to settle for this ending. It doesn’t have to be this way for you and Romeo._

Except, of course, it did, because it wasn’t his story to write. He was just there to retell it. There was only so much remixing one could do before the story wasn’t the same anymore. This, now, was as close to fate as he could imagine—if such a thing existed in reality—because here, they were forced to read the script that had been written for them.

“Romeo, I come,” he whispered, holding up the vial. “This do I drink to thee.”

He lay back on his pillow and waited for the stagehands to move the bed to the front of the stage.

“Nice job,” murmured one, carrying one end. He was pretty sure it was Oliver.

 _Dead Benvolio,_ he thought, _doing his part to be sure the story came to its conclusion._ What could he say? _I played my part, even if I didn’t want to?_

“Thanks,” he replied.

Act 4 scene 5 was performed around him, as he lay drugged on the bed. One at a time, they discovered him “dead,” and reacted in various ways. Bethany, being a consummate actress, played the nurse’s sorrow brilliantly. Grace’s interpretation of Lady Capulet’s character led her to say very little, but her body language carried the scene. Countess Alice was more surprised than anything to find her fiancé in such a state. And Lord Capulet—well, Kurt had opinions about Curtis’s capacity for acting, but he would never be as openly mean as Chris had always been about it. In any case, eventually Curtis stopped talking, and Pastor Laurence arrived to direct them with false sadness to bring the body to the cemetery, and the story continued.

“Places for Act 5,” called Trinity.

Kurt rose from the bed and went to stand in the wings again beside Bethany and Joel, whose character Tybalt was now dead, having been slain by Romeo.

Bethany sighed. “Act 5. Otherwise known as the shitshow of bad fortune.”

“I haven’t read Act 5,” Joel admitted, “since I’m not even in it.”

“If only any one of x, y, or z hadn’t happened, Romeo and Julian might have made it out of the city and into Mantua, where—okay, where life would have been pretty sucky for them, being teenagers without families or jobs. But at least they would have been alive.” She gestured at the stage. “Behold.”

The first scene consisted of Romeo hearing from his cousin Balthazar that Julian was dead and in his tomb. Balthazar was played by Anthony’s roommate Isaiah. He had received no letters for Romeo from the pastor. Noah played the scene more bereft than Chris ever had, but Kurt thought that was appropriate, given Romeo’s state of mind. He went off to find an apothecary, played by Anthony, whom he paid 40 ducats for a poison with which to kill himself.

“But I thought Ian—I mean, Pastor Laurence—I thought he _did_ send a letter?” Joel whispered during the scene change.

“He did,” Bethany agreed. “But it never got there because the family was sick, and they wouldn’t risk letting him bring the letter to Romeo.”

Pastor Laurence, having discovered this, wrote immediately to Romeo again, but it was obvious from Joel’s stricken expression that even he knew it would arrive too late to make a difference.

“So what happens next?” he asked.

“Lady Alice arrives at Julian’s tomb to find Romeo and Balthazar approaching,” said Bethany. “Romeo sends Balthazar off with a letter to give to his father, Lord Montague, and then he breaks into the tomb to retrieve the wedding ring Julian gave him, in order to sell it for money. Alice thinks he’s a grave-robber, so Romeo kills her.”

“God,” Joel said, his eyes huge. “This _sucks.”_

“It gets worse,” Kurt told him, with a shrug. “Sorry. Tragedy, right?”

The definition of _tragedy_ felt different than it once had. Kurt thought about his junior prom, at which he’d been jokingly elected Prom Queen. At that time, it had felt like the most awful thing possible. At this moment, though, surrounded by death and misery and bad luck, Kurt thought he might have a sense of what grownups meant when they said _it gets better._ It wasn’t really that it did. It was just that, in perspective with all the other terrible things in the world, the woes of his earlier life paled by comparison.

 _You think tonight qualifies as a tragedy or a comedy?_ he had asked Noah that night. And Noah had said, later, as they’d bid one another goodnight: _It’s the end of the act. Are you smiling or crying?_

Kurt hadn’t been entirely certain of the answer then, but as he walked into the tomb and lay down on the bier, he was now.

He couldn’t hear most of the early part of the scene from where he waited, still in feigned death, but when Romeo approached, Kurt felt himself tense at the utter ruin he heard in Noah’s perfectly enunciated lines.

“Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death, / Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth,” Romeo said through gritted teeth, prying at the door with his crowbar, “Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, / And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food!”

He abandoned the crowbar on the floor of the tomb while he fought Lady Alice’s page on her behalf. She sent her page off to call the watch at the end, and was slain by accident.

“If thou be merciful,” said Alice to Romeo, as she lay dying, “open the tomb and lay me with Julian.”

“In faith,” he replied, shaken, “I will. Mercutio's kinswoman, noble Countess Alice! O, give me thy hand, / One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! / I’ll bury thee in a triumphant grave.”

He carried Alice into the tomb.

“Death, lie thou there,” he murmured, “by a dead man interred.”

Romeo went from Alice to Tybalt and back to Julian, speaking words of reflection, and gave Julian one final kiss. Kurt could feel his lips trembling as they touched.

Noah’s voice only broke when he raised the poison aloft, saluting the heavens. “Here’s to my love.” He drank it all, and gasped, “O true apothecary, / Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.”

He collapsed beside Julian. There they rested together, quiet and still, as Pastor Laurence arrived. He and Balthazar, who had been watching from outside, entered the tomb.

As Pastor Laurence quietly lamented, Julian woke.

“Where is my lord?” he asked in confusion. “I do remember well where I should be, / And there I am. Where is my Romeo?”

“Come, come away,” Pastor Laurence implored. “Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead, / And Alice too.” He withdrew as the noises outside grew louder. “I dare no longer stay.”

Julian shook his head angrily. “Go, get thee hence, for I will not away. / What’s here? A cup, closed in my true love’s hand? / Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end.” He threw the cup across the stage, where it clattered and lay still. “O churl, drunk all, and left no friendly drop / To help me after?” He rose to his knees, touching Romeo’s still face. “I will kiss thy lips. / Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, / To make me die with a restorative.”

He leaned into Romeo, feeling Noah’s erratic breath, and breathed Julian’s own sadness into Romeo’s mouth as he kissed his still body.

“Thy lips are warm,” he said, wonderingly. He glanced up at more sounds from outside the tomb. “Yea, noise? Then I’ll be brief.” Casting around himself, he seized Romeo’s knife. It was the same plastic dagger he’d threatened to kill himself with earlier at Pastor Laurence’s house.“O happy dagger, / This is thy sheath. There rust and let me die.”

Bryce had cautioned him to fall in such a way across Romeo that he could lie for some time, as the rest of the scene continued. He’d never had a problem resting upon Chris before. Now, finding himself strewn across Noah’s shaking body, it was hard not to gather him close.

“I love you,” he whispered to Noah.

“God, Kurt,” Noah whispered back. “Talk about rotten timing.”

Kurt let out a little choking laugh, and Noah followed with his own, and they devolved into paroxysms of hilarity.

“Gentlemen,” Bryce drawled.

“I’m sorry—” Kurt gasped, holding up a hand. “We’re—it’s okay. Sorry.”

“For fuck’s sake,” said Curtis in disgust, and they began laughing all over again.

“Begin at _This is the place, where the torch doth burn.”_ Bryce settled back onto his stool. “And, Romeo and Julian, if you would attempt to control yourselves, as dead bodies are not known for their sense of humor.”

It was easier this time, partly because they’d had a chance to eliminate some of the tension, but mostly because now Noah was holding Kurt in his arms. He was, if not smiling, at least pleased.

Under cover of Pastor Laurence’s lengthy description of the events of the past several days, Noah turned his head, until he and Kurt were face to face on the bier.

“I love you, too,” he murmured.

Kurt nodded, blinking back tears. “This was… um. Really intense.”

Noah exhaled slowly. “You’re telling me. You got any notes for me?”

“Lots. But let’s wait until we’re not dead anymore, okay?”

He did smile now, and Kurt could see he was crying, too. “Deal.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for consensual rough sex and irresponsible condom use. -amy

The play ended with Montague and Capulet promising to be kinsmen both and to honor the memory of their sons with statues in Verona. The cast, on stage and off, applauded and hooted as the Prince spoke the last lines.

“We’ll practice the curtain call later,” said Bryce. “Everyone, come to the apron.”

Everyone looked exhausted, but none so much as Bryce himself. Kurt glanced at Trinity in concern and watched her shake her head in response.

“Are you okay, Bryce?” asked Oliver.

“I’m disappointed,” he said. He looked at Noah. “Because Chris Janssen was not able to be here today.”

Noah looked at his shoes while the rest of the cast murmured agreement. Kurt could only hear Harriet’s words: _He had to throw away his shirt, it was so bad,_ and he felt a prickle of unease.

“And yet, the show must go on. Thanks to the Herculean efforts of Joel Ramos and Noah Puckerman, you were not only able to perform the entire play, you were able to do it in two hours and fifty-three minutes.”

The cast broke into applause again. Noah joined in, though it seemed halfhearted.

“The pacing was better in the second half. Noah, you’ll suspend your classes tomorrow. You’ll rehearse the fight choreography in the morning, and I’ll arrange for a fencing tutor for you in the afternoon. We can’t have you killing _everyone_ in the show by accident.”

There was a smattering of laughter. Noah still didn’t smile, but he nodded, listening.

“Trinity will deliver you my written notes in lieu of making you stay here longer. It’s late, and you should get to bed.” He gave the whole cast a stern look. “Bed, you do understand, means sleeping? There will be no partying of any kind this week, children.”

They murmured agreement. Then Bryce turned to Kurt.

“Do you have any insight regarding Julian’s change of tone?”

“It was Puck who pointed it out. I made a choice to follow through with the frustration and anger that Julian was feeling earlier in the show.” He turned up his nose at Curtis’s glare. “It felt like the right thing to do. I’m only sorry it took me this long to figure it out.”

“A valid decision. We will explore it this week to allow it to inform additional scenes.” Bryce took a big breath, and they all breathed with him, and let it out together. There was more laughter, and he smiled. “Well done, everyone. Noah, a moment, if you will.”

Kurt waited until Noah was done talking to Bryce. He held out his arm and slid it around Noah’s waist, and Noah let him without question.

“What was that about?”

Noah didn’t answer, but that wasn’t a surprise. Kurt had learned long ago it helped to give Noah lots of lead time to process questions before expecting an answer. They walked in silence together for a few minutes. Several people looked at them curiously as they passed, and a few called out compliments to either or both of them. Kurt smiled at everyone for both of them.

“Um,” said Noah. He paused, looking at the ground. “Bryce wants to call my dad. To see if he would come out to watch the performance.”

“Did you say yes?”

“He said I could think about it.” He blinked rapidly. “What he actually said was, _I would like to invite Aaron and Felix._ ”

“Oh. Oh, wow.” Kurt gazed at him in amazement. “Do you think he knew about them?”

“I have no idea. He’s known my dad a long time. Maybe he’s been saying things like that forever and I never noticed before. Felix and my dad, they were friends, right?” Noah shook his head, clearly overwhelmed. “Or something. Shit.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

When he offered a hug, Noah stepped right into it. They stood there a long time in one another’s arms, long enough for it to stop feeling comforting and start feeling amorous.

“Bryce told us to go to bed.”

He hadn’t meant it to sound quite that suggestive, but when Noah groaned, he made a little thrust against him, and they both caught their breath.

“I’m sure he meant sleep,” he added, “not sex.”

“Yeah, he’s fucking seventy. You think he’s gonna take a poll?” But Noah was already pulling away, reluctantly, but with resigned agreement. “You’re probably right, though. I’m gonna fall asleep in about five minutes.”

Noah held his hand as they walked the back toward Laura Keane, but when Kurt said, “Would you tell me about what happened with Chris?” he felt Noah flinch.

“I really can’t, Kurt.”

 _Can’t, or won’t?_ he wondered. But he wasn’t about to push Noah at this moment, not when he was exhausted. “Then… can I ask you a different question, about your acting method? We’ve done a lot of scenes together, but I’ve never been in a show like this with you. You’re different. You really _become_ the character. I saw you do it several times tonight.”

Noah nodded. “I know what you’re talking about, but… I’m not sure I have a good answer for _how.”_

“I figured. I wish I could learn _how_. Sometimes I was able to do it, but I don’t know how, either, and sometimes I couldn’t, and I don’t know _why_ I couldn’t.” He squeezed Noah’s hand. “It was definitely easier when I was playing opposite you, though.”

“Yeah, same here.”

There was another, briefer silence. Kurt took a deep breath, then hesitated.

"What?" asked Noah.

“Did you… think I did okay?”

Noah stopped where he was in the middle of the path. The way he was staring at Kurt, with intense focus, was enough to make him wish he hadn’t asked.

“Did I think you did _okay?”_ Noah demanded.

Kurt tried not to cringe. “Yes?”

“Kurt…” Noah sighed in frustration. “You stole the fucking _show._ And this wasn’t even the dress rehearsal.”

“No,” Kurt laughed, shaking his head. The pleasure that flooded through him felt more like relief, along with a heavy dose of inadequacy. “It was definitely you that did that. You transformed the whole production in one rehearsal.”

“Maybe I made it happen, but you’re the one they noticed. I’m just an actor, Kurt.” He touched Kurt’s arm, so tenderly. “You? You’re a star.”

Kurt found himself unable to respond. He smiled harder, his face hurting with the force of it, and tugged Noah closer until they were walking shoulder to shoulder.

When they arrived at Laura Keane and Kurt tried to head for the stairs, Noah halted, looking torn.

“So that’s it for tonight?”

“I already asked Bethany where Asher was sleeping,” Kurt said regretfully, “and she said _in his own room where he belongs.”_

“Okay. Yeah.” Noah’s face looked sunken and drawn, like everything he’d done in the last three hours had taken all the life out of him.

“What do you need?” Kurt asked.

Noah just shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know.”

There was, at least, one obvious answer. “I can’t keep asking Asher to sleep in somebody else’s room at night, especially not during production week. But I think you and I could arrange to have my room to ourselves between afternoon class and dinner this week. At least we’d have those couple of hours to—to be nothing but whatever we need for one another.”

Noah let out a quiet snort. “I’ll tell you what, Kurt; _what we need_ is probably going to look a lot like napping.”

“So that’s what we’ll do.”

“All right.” Noah still looked disappointed, but relieved, too. “Can I walk you to your room?”

They paused outside his door for a brief kiss, but even that prompted far more attention than they were looking for at the moment. Noah gave him a little adorable wave as Kurt unlocked his room, then turned and headed back down the hall to the stairs.

“Noah?”

He turned around. “Yeah?”

 _What happened to Chris?_ The words were on his lips, but he realized there was no way he could say them. “I have forgot why I did call thee back.”

Noah didn’t roll his eyes, but he did grin. “Really?”

He shrugged hopefully. “Well…”

“You didn’t hear enough Romeo from my mouth tonight?” But Noah sauntered forward a few steps, close enough to touch Kurt’s fingertips, but not any closer. “Let me stay here till thou remember it.”

“I shall forget, to have thee still stand there, / Remembering how I love thy company.” He stroked Noah’s fingers with his own, watching him shiver. 

“And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, / forgetting any other home but this.” He raised an eyebrow. “That enough?”

“Until tomorrow.”

He withdrew into his room and closed the door before he could beg Noah to stay and recite another sonnet.

Asher stirred as Kurt entered, turning on the light next to his bed.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” said Kurt.

“No, no, I was waiting for you. How’d the stumblethrough go?”

Kurt sank down on the edge of the bed. “Really well. And… I’m not sure how to process all of it.” He took a deep breath. “This is the first time I’ve ever been in a real show with Puck.”

“Oh.” Asher laughed quietly, nodding. “I definitely get it.”

“I thought you might, after watching the two of you rehearse _Earnest.”_ He slowly took off his shoes and socks, pausing a weary moment to deposit them into the laundry hamper. “What Teresa said… that nobody really likes Puck. It’s like that at home, too. I think at least in Glee club, we’ve decided it’s okay the way he is, even if he’s—the way he is.” He paused. “What do you think about him?”

“I think he’s extraordinary,” said Asher. “And I think I don’t have to like him to have a good professional relationship with him. I’m learning a lot from working with him.”

Kurt collapsed on top of his bed, staring at the ceiling. “Your first run-through is tomorrow.”

“That’s right. Then dress rehearsal on Thursday, performance on Saturday.” Kurt could hear Asher’s sigh. “And then… that’s it. Back home.”

As Asher reached out and turned off the light, Kurt thought about his revelation, that some people probably had _nobody_ who really accepted them for who they were. It hurt his heart entirely too much to think Asher might be one of those people.

“Would you come up to Lima sometime?” he asked into the dark. “Just, to hang out? I’d love to introduce you to my other friends.”

There was a pause, and then Asher said, almost as an afterthought, “Oh, yeah, definitely.”

“Or I could come to Dalton. If that wouldn’t be too weird.”

“It wouldn’t be too weird, Kurt.” Now Kurt could hear him smiling. “It would be nice.”

That, instead of Chris, was the last thing Kurt thought about before he fell asleep on top of his bed, still dressed.

* * *

When Kurt and Asher arrived at breakfast the next day, most of the performers from Romeo & Juliet weren’t there, but Noah was. He was flipping through a well-tabbed script and frowning.

“Did you already eat?” Kurt asked, noting the empty space on the table in front of him.

“Breakfast plus fencing equals puking,” Noah replied, without looking up. A moment later, he reached out and rested an absent hand on Kurt’s butt.

Bethany arrived a few minutes later, yawning and wearing her glasses, but she was otherwise her usual perky self.

“Okay,” said Kurt, nudging Noah. “I’m ready for my notes now, Mr. Director.”

“Oh, we get to give you feedback?” Bethany seemed delighted by this. “Then I will suggest that Julian should be doing the balcony scene with no shirt. Pajama pants only.”

“No,” said Kurt firmly.

“Why not? He’s on his own balcony, in his empty yard. He doesn’t think anybody’s watching.”

“Except there _will_ be hundreds of people watching.” He stirred his coffee. “I really don’t feel comfortable being half-naked on stage.”

“But you _do_ feel comfortable making out with Puck wearing a pirate costume?” She held up her hands when he glared at her. “Fine, fine. It was only an idea. I do have one more thought.”

Noah looked annoyed, but Kurt nodded. “Go ahead?”

“I don’t think you’re really conveying what Julian wants in the balcony scene. I know he does eventually say _marriage,_ but it takes a while for that to come up. I think it’s not that he doesn’t want sex, it’s that he’s trying to avoid being required to marry a woman. He’s kind of using Romeo to get him out of the deal with Alice. He’s saying—”

Noah snickered suddenly, cutting her off.

“What?” said Kurt curiously, grinning.

“Julian’s saying, _if you liked it, then you should have put a ring on it.”_

Kurt laughed loud enough that half the cafeteria turned to stare at them. “Oh my _god._ I am _not_ dancing Single Ladies while performing Shakespeare.”

“No, no, I’m not saying—but you could allude to it, right? The hand, the ring, a little hip rocking…” Bethany smiled as Kurt laughed harder. “Come on, that would be perfect.”

“Remind me to tell you some other time exactly _why_ that would be a terrible idea.” Kurt sighed when Asher looked extra curious. “And you too, Mr. Nosy. Now—Noah, exactly what are you trying to get out of that script?”

Noah turned to him, scowling. For a second, Kurt expected him to snap at him. But when he opened his mouth, he just said mildly, “I was reading Trinity’s blocking notes and saying them back to myself in my head. To help them make sense.”

Kurt decided the very last thing Noah needed was somebody making a fuss about that remarkable statement, but it was hard to resist. He touched the script. “Would it be faster if I read them aloud, and then you said them back to me?”

Noah definitely looked outraged at that suggestion, but Kurt gave him a few moments to consider it, and finally he nodded. “Yeah. That would be a lot faster.”

They finished their breakfast quickly, Asher and Noah discussing specifics for _Earnest._ There was an easy, understated energy between the two of them that made Kurt smile. When Asher added, “I’ll keep out of the room from three-thirty until six, so you guys can be alone,” Noah didn’t even blink.

“Everybody else slept in this morning, I guess,” said Kurt to Noah on their way to the little theater for fencing.

“Looks like. I can never sleep during production week.”

“The, um. The script?”

He was trying to be gentle about it, hoping Noah wouldn’t fly off the handle, but Noah just sighed and passed it to him. “Here.”

“Thanks for letting me help.”

He watched Noah take that in, nod, and keep going. Again, it felt like an achievement.

“Is… that’s new? The way you didn’t freak out about reading?”

“I am freaking out.” Noah kept his eyes on the path ahead. “I’m acting like somebody who’s not.”

Kurt considered that, then shook his head. “No, it’s not the same. If you were acting, you’d be a lot more self-assured. This feels… honest.”

Noah shrugged. “Then I guess I’m a pretty good actor.”

That felt like a wholly unsatisfactory answer, and one that left more questions than answers in Kurt’s head, but he decided not to press Noah for more.

It was wonderful to be there to watch while Noah internalized the blocking and put it together with the dialogue. Noah muttered to himself as he danced through the steps: “Draw, Benvolio; beat down their— _downstage three—_ Gentlemen, for shame, _back two,_ forbear this outrage! _Circle around,_ the prince expressly hath— _around Mercutio—_ forbidden bandying in Verona streets. _Hands up,_ Hold, Tybalt! _To the right three,_ good Mercutio, _stabs Tybalt, come around, catch him._ ” He nodded to himself. “Okay. This time can you read just the blocking, while I do it again?”

It took a ridiculously short amount of time before Noah could do the whole thing at tempo without any mistakes. Kurt told himself it was partly due to Noah’s memory—which had to be something like photographic, or whatever it was called when you could immediately remember what you heard—and partly due to his dance training and body awareness and athleticism. But really, what it seemed like to Kurt, watching him do it, was magic.

“I know you have to get to class,” said Noah, mopping his brow with his shirt and tossing it to the side, “but do you think you could stay for just a little of the fencing? In case I forget something?”

“You’re not going to forget anything,” Kurt said, laughing. “But I’ll stay for moral support. And to watch you fence without your shirt on.”

Noah grinned. “It sure makes it easier when I hear you say stuff like that.”

“Makes what easier?”

He gestured at the door. “Dealing with those fuckers.”

Kurt turned to see Teresa, Curtis, and an assortment of their friends, whispering to one another outside the doorway. They moved on as soon as they saw Kurt, but their expressions were spiteful and suspicious and all too familiar.

“Like Karofsky,” Kurt whispered.

“No, like _me,”_ said Noah. He swung his arms, stretching, and bounced on his toes. “Believe me, I’ve been in their place. I know how they think. I just can’t always stay focused when they’re there. So… thanks for the ego boost.”

Kurt stayed long enough to drink in the sight of Noah’s strong, graceful body going through the steps while holding a foil, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the group of kids who’d been watching them from the door. Did he need to worry about them? Probably not; Noah could take care of himself. Except maybe that was the whole reason to be worried.

He felt useless all through morning classes, but neither his stage makeup teacher nor his dance instructor seemed to be expecting much of the campers in Bryce’s productions. Both suggested they spend some time outside, although Kurt was not inclined to do so. He mostly yawned and distracted himself with daydreams of his scheduled siesta with Noah.

On his way to class from lunch, he found himself walking down the path in front of Teresa and Ian. He slowed down gradually, until they had no choice but to catch up with him, at which point Kurt turned toward Ian.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Okay,” said Ian warily.

“A real question, not a trick. What do you think Puck did? On Monday, with Chris?”

Ian looked at Teresa, who shook her head.

“I’m legitimately trying to figure it out,” Kurt added.

Ian frowned. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“You don’t think I’ve tried? He’s not telling me.”

“And you don’t think that’s suspicious?” Teresa said.

“I know he was with me all night, and he got a text from Chris in the morning, and I think another one at breakfast.”

“Why don’t you look at his text history, then?”

Kurt shook his head. “I—I can’t do that.”

“Why not? Because you don’t think he’s capable of doing something terrible?”

Kurt shook his head again, but he didn’t say anything.

“Kurt,” Teresa said, sounding concerned. “Did he… ever hit you?”

“No!” he shouted. He stopped where he was, holding out a hand, but he wasn’t quite sure what he was trying to do. “No. He wouldn’t.” _He just threw me into dumpsters and terrorized me, but that was before we had sex. Kind of._

“I really think you need to talk to somebody.” Teresa put a hand on his shoulder, and when he pulled away, she sighed. “I know it’s hard when you care about somebody who’s abusive, but… Kurt, you really can’t trust him.”

 _I do trust him._ He looked at the ground. _Don’t I?_

“I’ll do it,” Ian said. “If you can get me his phone. It’s either that, or Ms. Paige gets it from him.” He looked disgusted. “I seriously don’t know why they haven’t kicked him out already. He’s a _criminal.”_

“It’s not like that,” Kurt whispered.

They gave him one more sympathetic glance before leaving him there on the path. It was all he could do to continue on to class, but somehow he managed it.

 _I’m a pretty good actor,_ Noah told him. It was true. Would Kurt really know if he was telling the truth or not? Was there any way he could, without evidence?

“No,” he said aloud. He wasn’t going to—to _spy_ on Noah.

Noah was absent from masterclass again, but Bryce was there, looking as composed as ever. He put them through some acting exercises, but then he invited them to stop and sit down in the circle of chairs.

“What was the very first theater production you ever witnessed?”

“Do movies count?” asked Bethany.

“In this instance, no. Live theater, witnessed by you.”

Kurt thought about that word, _witnessed._ “It wasn’t very good,” he told Bryce.

“Did that matter to you?”

“Not really. It was a local production of _Annie Get Your Gun._ I was six. I think I played cowgirls for the rest of the summer after that.” 

Bryce nodded. “You achieved the power to transform into someone else. Perhaps movies will evoke that potential, but it is theater that manifests it.”

“My parents took me to see _Into the Woods_ when I was five,” said Curtis. “I remember the witch scared the crap out of me.”

“You never forgot it,” Bryce said. “You probably never will. Impressions such as those are stored in a nearly indelible location in the brain.”

“I did performances in my basement with my sister,” said Grace. “We had a curtain made out of a sheet. But my mom’s an actress. I’ve been going to her shows since before I can remember. I always knew what was possible.”

“What about reading a play?” Kurt asked. “Or poetry? I mean, you can act with your voice, right?”

“One might argue the dynamic energy between two or more people is what makes a production come alive. But I would claim it’s not the people performing who cause it to happen. It’s _being seen_ by the audience. Those of you in this week’s productions have thus far provided the audience for one another. In four days, that experience will be magnified a hundredfold.” Bryce smiled at Kurt. “They will see far more than your roles. Rosalind Russell claimed that acting is nothing more than standing up naked and turning around very slowly.”

“What was the first performance you ever saw?” Ian asked Bryce.

“That would be _Paint Your Wagon,_ at the Shubert Theater in 1952. It is a show I have never performed.” He smiled at Curtis. “But I have never forgotten it.” Then he turned his gaze on the entire room. “Now, another essential question. How many of you are still not certain you are good enough to perform?”

They all looked at one another. Slowly, they all raised their hands—including Bryce. They laughed.

“I think it’s not even that I worry about being good enough?” said Asher. “It’s, like… I’m not sure I’m _worthy_ of it. It feels like hubris, to think I could justify taking up that much of somebody else’s attention and time.”

“And yet even bad theater has a profound effect, as you have heard here today,” said Bryce. “You can expect that anyone who comes to see you will have opinions, but even if they don’t like the ways in which your production changed them, they _will_ come out changed.”

“Aaron said that,” Kurt said. They all looked at him, and he stammered, “I mean, Mr. Puckerman. Puck’s father. He said… it’s the actors’ job to make the audience forget it’s pretend. It’s like a journey, and the stage is the portal.”

Bryce looked amused. “I’m glad to hear he remembers the words of his teacher from so long ago. And not at all surprised. Aaron’s memory is not unlike that of his son’s.”

As he walked slowly back to Laura Keane, Kurt thought about Noah’s father, about all the productions Noah had done with him as a child, and all the shows Aaron himself had performed in, depicted on the Dayton Opera House website. He eyed the senior campers walking back beside him. It had been easy to think of them at the beginning of the summer as privileged rich kids who’d grown up in theater, but now… it just wasn’t that simple.

“I wonder what it would be like to see _Earnest_ performed, professionally,” Asher said thoughtfully. “Now that I’ve really studied it. Somebody else saying those lines, with different inflections, different pacing… I don’t know if it would be better or worse.”

“Back in eighth grade, Puck took me to see Twelfth Night at the Dayton Opera House, where his dad works. Bryce did Twelfth Night with him, here, the summer before that. Puck told me it meant more, watching it after he knew it inside and out.”

“Eighth grade.” Asher shook his head. “Bryce cast Noah in senior productions when he was fourteen? _Thirteen?_ No wonder everybody hates him.” Then he paused, watching Kurt blanch, and added, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, no,” Kurt sighed. “You did. And while it might be true certain upperclassmen hate him for swiping parts they wish they were good enough to play, most people hate him for being a bully.”

“He’s a lot of things, Kurt. He’s not just one thing.”

Kurt nodded. “I was just thinking that. That none of us are just one thing. We’re all… multifaceted. The thing you see depends on where you’re standing.”

“It sounds like you’re getting some perspective.” Asher gave him an encouraging smile. “See you at dinner.”

Kurt wondered if he should text Noah, but when he arrived at his room, Noah was already there, drenched in sweat and leaning against the wall. He warded Kurt off with a hand.

“I’ve been practicing choreography for two hours. You really don’t want to touch me right now.”

“I really don’t,” Kurt agreed. He opened the door and let Noah in. “You can shower first.”

There was no question of being able to do that together, given the size of the tiny bathrooms. Kurt closed the blinds and pulled back the blankets on the bed. When Noah emerged from the bathroom, Kurt gestured, and Noah practically collapsed onto the sheets.

“I’m not gonna be able to stay awake,” he mumbled.

“I didn’t expect you to.” Kurt switched off the lights. “Sweet dreams.”

Noah was indeed snoring when Kurt emerged from his own shower, but he stirred when Kurt climbed into bed naked beside him. He gazed at Kurt silently through half-lidded eyes.

“See something you like?” Kurt murmured.

Noah chuckled. “Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze.”

“I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I,” Kurt finished Mercutio’s line, with a supercilious sneer.

“Well, peace be with you, sir.” Noah leaned in for a kiss. “Here comes my man.”

Kurt felt his insides twist, as he did every time Noah came within kissing distance. Something about having him that close made it impossible for him to keep his equilibrium.

“You can go back to sleep,” Kurt said after a moment. “I might join you. Door is locked, alarm is set. We won’t miss dinner.”

Noah wound him into his arms, holding him in the position of the big spoon. It felt about as good as any set of sensations Kurt could imagine.

“Am I your man?” he asked softly.

“You see anybody else auditioning for that position?” Noah held him tighter.

“I know it’s been a weird couple of days, and… well, things aren’t exactly perfect between us…”

“Kurt.” Now he sounded aggravated. “I can’t deal with talking right now.”

“No, I know, I just need to tell you—”

“Please. Don’t. The only thing you have to do this week is wrap up this one show. I have to wrap up _two_ of them. And trust me, _Earnest_ is just as intense as _Romeo & Juliet.”_

“You’re saying we’re not going to talk about _anything_ until the show is over?”

He sighed. “Kurt…”

“You want me to keep all of this inside?” Kurt demanded over his shoulder.

“No. I don’t.” He exhaled sharply. “I’m not sure you want to know what I _do_ want you to do.”

“What do you—?” Kurt turned around, glaring at him. Then he broke out of Noah’s embrace entirely and used all four of his limbs to pin Noah beneath him. “You can’t just say things like that! Not if you’re not going to _tell_ me—”

Noah reached up with both hands, grasped Kurt’s face, and kissed him, hard. It was more force than he’d used all summer, but Kurt met him with equal fervor.

 _So much for falling asleep,_ Kurt thought, through the haze of desire that washed over him. But it wasn’t until Noah grabbed Kurt’s hand and placed the bottle of lube into it that Kurt realized what that desperation in Noah’s eyes meant.

“Do it,” Noah said, his words clipped. “Come on.”

“Do what, Noah?” He shifted down between his legs and helped him spread wider, watching in approval as Noah’s back arched into his touch. His fingers scissored the lube into him, feeling each pulse of the blood rushing beneath his skin. “What could you possibly want from me?”

Noah’s groan gave him a truly wicked thrill. Even before he said the words, Kurt was crouching over him, stroking him. “Fuck me, god, Kurt.”

“You really think I’m going to do that? Without a condom? For all you know, I could have been fooling around with half the Warblers this spring.”

Noah was scarcely paying attention to his surroundings, much less Kurt’s teasing. He reached out and grasped Kurt’s hips, pulling him in close. “Need this… need you.”

Of course he could have said no. He could have, and it would have been smarter and safer and more responsible, but considering the frame of mind Kurt was in, he wasn’t about to deny either of them what they wanted. Without words, he knelt between Noah’s thighs.

Noah’s eyes were closed as Kurt worked his way inside him, and his lips made words like _yeah,_ and the breathy noises he made were nothing but encouraging. The logistics of this act had never felt simple, and it had been long enough since they’d done it that Kurt felt anxious about doing something wrong, but Noah clearly wasn’t worried about any of that. The more Kurt gave him, the more Noah relaxed, and the more complete his breath flowed in and out of him.

The sensation and heat of Noah around him was definitely more intense, almost more than Kurt could handle. He leaned over Noah and buried his face into his neck, breathing in his clean skin, his fingertips digging into Noah’s forearms as he held them down.

He could feel the slick wetness between them, leaking out of Noah, but he was still hard. Kurt flexed his grip on Noah’s arms.

“You want your hand back? To touch yourself?”

Noah squirmed a little, but he shook his head. “Just—harder.”

 _Harder._ With dizzy abandon, Kurt gave up trying to sustain their activity and set himself the task of meeting Noah’s request. Noah let out a series of increasingly urgent sounds that Kurt first tried to shush, then stop with a kiss, but the rhythm of their bodies made that impossible.

“Would you shut up?” Kurt said at last. “We’re going to get in trouble.”

“You should pull out.” Noah’s breathing was ragged. “To finish.”

“Oh god.” Kurt let go, resting his hands briefly on Noah’s chest. “Is—is that what you want?”

“No.”

He took a deep breath. “Well, then… I’m not going to.” He slid his hands down to grip Noah’s hips. “I’m not going to stop.”

Noah’s voice broke in into a gasp, his eyes screwed tight. “Fuck.”

As Noah twitched and pulsed onto his stomach, Kurt felt his own body respond in kind, inside Noah. He stayed true to his word, continuing to thrust into him, until it became physically impossible and he slid out.

For a moment, Kurt wondered if Noah was going to push him away. Kurt hovered over him, watching his guarded face, until eventually he crouched back onto shaking knees. But then Noah did reach for him, and Kurt decided he could ignore the sticky mess of their bodies, at least long enough to wrap him up and hold him.

“That was really stupid,” Kurt whispered. He kissed the corner of Noah’s mouth, tasting the salt of his tears. “And so, so hot.”

“Yeah.” Noah turned toward him with a sigh. “Not sorry.”

“I wish you would have just told me what you wanted instead of—I don’t know, tricking me into doing it.”

“You never would have.”

“Maybe? I mean…” Kurt sighed reproachfully, but he couldn’t find it in him to be angry when he felt so good. “You don’t think you would have been willing if I told you, _I want you to hold me down and do me bare, as hard as you can?”_

“Uh—” Noah let out a startled laugh. “You think you’d ever tell me that?”

“I might. Now that I know how good it felt, doing it to you.”

This time when he kissed Noah, Noah kissed him back.

* * *

Kurt went to bed early that night and slept right through until morning. He didn’t even wake up when Asher returned that night, after the _Earnest_ run-through, but in the morning, he heard a groan that made him sit up and look suspiciously across the room at Asher’s bed.

“Are you okay?” he said softly, as Asher stirred.

“Bad dream,” he replied blearily. “Ugh.”

“For a minute, I thought you might have somebody there with you.”

Asher laughed. “Yeah, no.” He slid his feet out of bed and rested them on the floor, flexing his toes. “This camp is already emotionally complicated enough without adding sex on top of it.”

“How did it go last night?”

“Surprisingly well. Trinity’s Cecily is hilarious. And Grace is so good as Bracknell; you’re going to love her.”

Kurt tilted his head. “Do you… want to talk about the dream?”

“Oh. Um, it was about Chris.” He made a face. “I forgot most of it already.”

“Is that code for _I don’t really want to talk about it,_ or—?”

Asher sighed. “I think I’m having a hard time hearing the rumors about Chris and also working directly with the person who’s supposed to have perpetrated them.”

He nodded slowly. “Meaning Puck.”

“Yeah.” Asher eyed him. “I’m not sure how rational you’re able to be about him.”

“Well, considering I’ve broken up and gotten back together with him about fifteen times since we started dating, that’s a reasonable question.” He took a deep breath. “Can I tell you why I _don’t_ think he did… what people say he did to Chris?” Asher nodded. “It’s not because he’s not a jerk sometimes. It’s because when he is, he’s… a certain way about it. He stops trusting me, stops letting me help. Letting me in. And he’s not doing that right now. He’s scared, but it’s not about Chris, or at least I don’t think it is.” Kurt looked at the floor. “He still won’t tell me what happened, though.”

Asher nodded silently. They didn’t speak for several minutes while Asher did his morning yoga, but when Kurt was finishing getting dressed, Asher approached him again.

“You know how Bryce said he cast us in the roles he did because the characters were dealing with their own fears, and so were we?” He smoothed his t-shirt across his chest in what Kurt had come to recognize as a nervous gesture. “I dreamed that Chris discovered I’m trans, and he gave me a hard time about it. And I beat him up for it.”

“Oh.” Kurt swallowed. “I really can’t imagine you ever doing that to anybody.”

“No, I never have. I’ve thought about it, though. And even though Chris was never anything but nice to me, I never talked to him about me being trans. Or Puck, or any of the other guys here, except you.” He cast a troubled look at the floor. “And now, it’s too late. I can’t tell Chris, and I’m not sure I trust Puck enough. I’m kind of disappointed in myself for not confronting that fear.”

“Going home this summer, to your town. Is that going to be… okay?”

Asher gave him a quick smile. “I’ll be all right. Maybe this experience will help me to be a little more open at Dalton this year. I might as well make that zero-tolerance policy work for me while I’ve got it.”

The dining room was even quieter than it had been the morning before, but they heard Noah’s angry voice before they arrived. Asher gave Kurt an uneasy look.

Ian, Curtis, and Harriet were surrounding him where he stood beside the drink station. Curtis was saying something under his breath.

“You think I don’t have anything better to do?” Noah snapped.

“Because we deserve some answers.” Ian sounded so reasonable by comparison, but it didn’t slow Kurt’s racing heart.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just tell everybody the truth,” Curtis added. “They all think you did it. Why not make it easier on yourself?”

“Hey,” Kurt called. Only Harriet bothered to turn and look at him. Curtis reached out a hand to touch Noah’s shoulder, and Noah slapped it away. “Stop it! Can’t you leave him alone?”

“I don’t believe this,” muttered Ian. He shot Kurt an incredulous glare before stalking away. As the others dispersed, Noah pushed through them toward the door.

“Let him go,” Asher said to Kurt, as he turned to follow him. “Give him a minute. Have some breakfast.”

Kurt managed to eat a few bites of cereal and a banana. Noah didn’t return, but Kurt didn’t really expect him to.

Even though they were present in the same morning classes on stage makeup and ballroom dance, Kurt felt like he saw very little of Noah. He ate almost nothing at lunch. They sat together during masterclass, but Noah’s attention was inward, and after he gave distracted answers to two or three questions, Bryce stopped asking him anything.

“At least the others stopped bothering you,” Kurt said to Noah on their way back to Laura Keane that afternoon.

Noah nodded. At one point he looked like he might want to say something, but then he fell silent again.

Kurt took his hand. “Do you… want to do the same thing we did yesterday, in my room?”

Noah looked startled. He glanced at Kurt, just for a moment, then at their joined hands before nodding again.

“I know you don’t really want to talk about it,” said Kurt. “I won’t make you. I just don’t want you to think you’re forcing me into anything here.”

“Yeah,” Noah muttered, grimacing. “Kurt, let me see if I can make this clear. Everywhere but here, I have two skill sets that give me control over my stupid little life: fear, and sex. Here, I’ve also got acting. Except right now, everybody really, really hates that I’m a good actor. I can’t use fear, because if I get into a fight with anybody, they’ll kick me out, and chances are I’ll go back to juvie. The only person I’m having sex with is you, and most of the time, what I want makes me feel like shit. That’s where I am. Got it? Is that enough talking for you?”

“It makes you feel like shit?” Kurt repeated. He tried not to let Noah’s barrage of words intimidate him. “So why do you want to do it?”

“I feel like shit for _wanting_ it.”

He was keeping his voice low, but it was clear exactly how worked up he was. Everyone who walked past them on the path shot Kurt a look of concern, like they were ready to intervene at any moment. Kurt glared back at every one of them.

He let Noah precede him up the stairs, but the minute Kurt had the door to his room unlocked, he pushed Noah up against the wall, kissing him hard enough to bruise his lips. Somehow he managed to kick the door closed without knocking both of them over.

“I _love_ that you want me like that,” Kurt told him. “I love that you want that, from _me._ I love that you’re so strong and smart and funny and talented and you _still_ need me, I’m sorry you hate it, because—god, it really turns me on.”

He maneuvered Noah across the room by stages, stripping off Noah’s clothes as he went. With every kiss, every shove, he could feel Noah lose it a little bit more, until by the end he had Noah on the bed underneath him, pliable and quivering and hard enough for Kurt to wonder if he might legitimately be uncomfortable. The whole time, part of him wanted to ask _are you sure this is what you want,_ but another part of him knew that would just cause Noah more pain—and an even more embarrassing third part had already decided he didn’t care if Noah did change his mind, that he was just going to take what he wanted.

He tugged impatiently at the buttons on his own shirt. “Turn over.”

Even as he shifted onto his hands and knees, Noah shot Kurt a look. “Somebody’s liking this a little too much.”

“I promise I won’t get cocky,” Kurt said coolly. He knelt behind Noah and reached around to stroke him, reveling in the way Noah swore and thrust forward into his hand.

That was a lie. It was far too late for cocky; Kurt was heading right for intoxicated. He was drunk on the power Noah had handed to him. It buzzed in his chest as he leaned over the knotted muscles of Noah’s back, whispering into his ear. He told Noah all the things he wanted to do to him, all the edgy and vaguely distasteful things he had trouble considering under most circumstances, but which, at the moment, sounded _amazing._

Luckily Noah’s delicious noises seemed to indicate they sounded amazing, too. But that wasn’t a surprise. Noah had always been open to trying anything Kurt had ever been curious about. He’d never pushed him to do anything he didn’t want to do. He’d always been patient, and encouraging and—

“Hey,” Noah said, when Kurt started sniffling. He looked over his shoulder in concern. “Are you okay? What’s the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” Kurt said quickly, “I’m just—thinking about you. Please, I don’t want to stop.”

But Noah had already moved out from under him, shifting on the bed to make room for Kurt to sit beside him. He put his arms around him as Kurt gave up and sobbed into his arms.

“I know I’m a fucking mess, babe,” said Noah, with gentle humor, “but I’m totally not worth crying over.”

Kurt scrubbed at his face. “I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to ruin this.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.” Noah touched his wet cheek. “C’mon. Look at me. I’m still here. We’ve got time. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” Kurt insisted. The fact that he was still crying wasn’t lending much credence to his statement, but Noah seemed to accept it anyway. “Really, I was just feeling… so lucky. To be doing this with you. It’s always been so good, and you’re…” He sniffed, smiling at Noah’s inquisitive face. “You’re so good.”

Noah actually looked a little flustered. “You’re freaking out because… you think I’m so good?”

Kurt laughed into his neck, then kissed his way up his chin until he found Noah’s mouth. Their momentum and arousal took the kiss further than he’d intended, coupled with a healthy dose of groping, but eventually Kurt was able to respond.

“I’m not freaking out,” he promised. “But… can we just stay right here? I don’t think my ego can survive another episode of bursting into tears while talking dirty to you.”

Noah didn’t even look disappointed. “I bet your ego can take just about anything. Seriously. You’re fearless.”

“No. No.” Kurt clung to him, shaking his head. “I’m afraid all the time. I feel like I keep making mistakes. I’m just… stumbling through the dark, failing at everything.”

“Isn’t that what being fearless means? God, Kurt.” Noah drew him in closer. “When we started doing this stuff together, every minute we were fooling around, I felt like the biggest fraud. I was terrified you were going to notice I was, like, actually gay.”

Kurt ran his fingertips along Noah’s collarbone. “You thought that would be a surprise?”

“I know, it’s crazy. Somehow in my brain I equated that with _loser._ ” He sighed. “I think I still do, most of the time. All I wanted to do was impress you. It took me a while to get to the point where I noticed you actually liked me best when I was honest.”

“But you were honest with me all the time, right from the beginning,” Kurt protested. “When I was tutoring you in Lit & Comp, reading all those books together, and later talking about being an actor? You were so… vulnerable.”

“That’s different than being honest about sex, though.”

Kurt looked at him in confusion. “You… weren’t being honest with me about sex?”

“Not for a while. At the beginning I could only do it as long as it was a performance. Like how I always was with girls. It was easy if I made it about them.” He brushed errant strands of hair off Kurt’s forehead. “Not if it was about what _I_ wanted.”

Kurt felt a sudden chill. Noah’s own words echoed back to him: _Then I must be a pretty good actor._

“Do you mean,” he said, struggling to get the words out, “all that time, you were only pretending to want the things you said you wanted?”

“No, I—it wasn’t like that. I don’t mean I didn’t want them.” Now Noah looked hurt. “Don’t be like that. You know I never wanted—”

“Yes, you keep saying that. You never wanted to be gay. You’d change it in a heartbeat if you could.”

Kurt realized, far too late, that his voice was coming out in Noah’s cadences, a grotesque, inadequate parody of his speech patterns.

Noah stared at him, his face expressionless. Then he sat back slowly, removing his hands from Kurt’s body.

“I think I’d better go.”

Kurt watched him gather up his clothes, scattered across the floor. In the time it took him to muster an apology, Noah was already fastening his jeans.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Kurt.”

Kurt closed his eyes as the door shut behind him.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is much less Earnest in this chapter than there was Romeo & Juliet in the previous several, but it would absolutely behoove you to see a stage production of Earnest, if you are at all curious. There are a lot of really boring productions on YouTube. And there’s the 2002 movie with Hugh Grant, of course, which is… fine. There’s an excellent production available on the Broadway HD channel on Amazon Prime, but you have to pay for it. [Here’s a currently free video of a good one with subtitles](https://www.curveonline.co.uk/news/watch-our-archive-recording-of-the-importance-of-being-earnest/), though it’s shot from far away. -amy

It turned out that dress rehearsal felt drastically different from the stumblethrough, primarily because they had an audience: a very _loud_ audience.

“It’s a tradition,” said Bethany, turning around. “For the junior campers to heckle us during the dress rehearsal, like the audience of the Globe did back then. It gets us ready for any reaction the real audience might have. Fasten the snaps on the neck of my dress, would you?”

The costumes themselves weren’t too different from the kind of outfits extravagant rich teenagers might wear to parties. Since Bryce had chosen a contemporary Italian setting for _Romeo & Juliet_, it was reasonable to assume nobody would expect petticoats and pantaloons, but their audience still seemed confused.

“Who are you supposed to be?” called one of the boys in the front row to Kurt as he helped set up the props.

“I’m a soccer player,” Kurt called back, gesturing to his outfit.

“No, I mean, your character. Aren’t you Juliet?”

“Julian.”

He smirked. “Romeo’s _boyfriend?”_

“That’s right.” He sighed to Anthony as he strode by in Mercutio’s leather jacket, carrying a bench. “Why am I letting them bait me?”

“Because it’s who you are.” Anthony smiled.

Kurt eyed him. “You’re in unusually good spirits.”

“Am I?” Anthony’s grin did not abate.

“Okay, spill.”

Anthony just laughed. “You want me to dish my dirt _on stage?”_

“They can’t even hear us. Does this have something to do with a particular kinsman of yours?”

Anthony moved the bench into its proper location, marked by pieces of tape on the stage, then leaned on it. He looked entirely, unselfconsciously happy.

Kurt couldn’t help but smile back. “You and Oliver, hmmm? How hard do I have to tease you for dating a sophomore?”

“He’ll be a junior next year. And he’s a hell of a lot more mature than _your_ boyfriend.”

 _That would be true, but it’s not like Noah sets the bar all that high._ Even after their last encounter, Kurt couldn’t find it in him to permit any trash talk about Noah, but he couldn’t deny Anthony’s statement, either.

They all wore costumes and stage makeup, just as they would on Friday. Many of the cast wore wigs, but Bryce had decided early on that neither Kurt nor Chris would significantly change their hairstyles. Kurt was fully prepared for Noah to arrive for his first scene wearing a wig, but they had left his head bald, with just the hint of the mohawk growing back in.

“He does look every bit the bad boy,” said Yvonne, gesturing from the wings at Noah-as-Romeo, conversing with Benvolio in his leather jacket and ripped jeans while the audience whistled and catcalled him.

“It’s not as though that’s much of a costume,” Kurt murmured. “He comes to school like that every day.”

“Nice.” She sounded envious. “We have to wear uniforms.”

Kurt nodded sympathetically. “Been there.”

The Capulet party scene felt much wilder with everyone wearing their costumes. Kurt hadn’t realized exactly how much harder it would be to focus when everyone was dressed up as somebody else. He hoped that made his drunken revelry more believable.

When Noah finally made eye contact with him across the stage, there were more than a few whistles from the audience, and some laughter, but also some “Ew, gross” comments that were hard to ignore. He wondered if he should attempt to tone down their groping and kissing for this particular audience.

Noah, however, did not allow him to make such a decision. The moment Kurt caught his hand to keep him from falling off the stage, and Noah responded with “If I profane with my worthiest hand,” Kurt found himself slipping back into character like it was a tailored suit. The audience’s running commentary did nothing to dampen his engagement; if anything, it heightened it.

When he said teasingly to Noah, “Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use… in prayer,” there was a deafening _ooooo_ from the kids, along with whistles of encouragement.

Kurt laughed at Noah’s amazed expression, and Noah laughed, too, before kneeling in front of Kurt, just as they’d done in the stumblethrough. “O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do…”

“Daaamn,” called someone in the front, but it was more respectful than derisive. Even the cheering died down as they waited to see what would happen next.

When Noah went on, with an innocent smile, “They _pray,_ grant thou, lest faith turn to despair,” there was a collective groan from the audience.

Kurt was caught in a fit of giggles. He pressed his hand to his mouth as he gazed at Noah with love and desire. Not one bit of it was feigned, but he was also beginning to be able to feel the Julian-ness of it. There was his own feeling for Noah, and layered on top of that, there was Julian’s awareness and attraction for Romeo. They were not in conflict.

He got a big laugh when he gave Noah the finger, but, surprisingly, an even bigger one when Noah refused to get up and he said, snidely, “Oh, saints do not move? Though, grant, for prayers' sake.” Apparently these kids knew their Romeo & Juliet.

As he knelt in response to Romeo’s encouragement, and Romeo touched his face and said, “Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take,” before kissing him, the whole audience let out a sigh, with surprisingly few catcalls.

 _They believe us,_ Kurt thought, his heart thumping hard in his chest. It had ceased to be an act. The audience was caught in thrall to the story. Kurt knew exactly how that felt, as an audience member—and to be the one inciting it was nothing short of miraculous.

After that, every kiss, every look, was absorbed by the audience in near-silence. When Romeo discovered that Julian was a Capulet, they watched for the four seconds it took Romeo to shift from rapture to despair with nothing more than an unsettled murmur. The scene ended in tumultuous applause.

Kurt came face to face with Noah backstage. He reached out and grasped his hands in both of his.

“They really like it,” he whispered.

But Noah gave him nothing but a blank, unreadable look. Kurt’s smile fell away. He let go of Noah’s hands and stepped back.

“You’re doing great,” Noah said softly. “Keep it up.”

It was like that for the rest of the show. On stage, Kurt got full-on Romeo, both laughter and tears, but between acts and scenes, he received nothing at all. It was like Noah had tapped into this void character, one he was now playing in real life opposite Kurt. He found it distressing, but it was also surprisingly easy to follow Noah’s lead and simply not interact with him offstage.

The audience remained engaged through the whole show, which perhaps should not have surprised Kurt; they were theater fans, after all, even the younger campers. When conflict overwhelmed romance, the audience called encouraging words. Kurt dug into Julian’s disillusionment following their one night together, and when Romeo disappeared over the wall for the last time and Julian was left crying on stage, Kurt was pretty sure he heard some sniffling from the campers in the front few rows. Romeo’s breakdown with Pastor Laurence left them silent and shocked. They didn’t even get restless during the long soliloquies of the last act’s death scenes.

The kids they saw leaving the theater at the end looked despondent.

“What, did they think it was going to end happily?” Kurt asked Oliver after the curtain call. Oliver just shrugged.

Bryce gathered them on the stage after the auditorium was empty.

“I know you’re thinking you must be getting away with mistakes because I’m too old and tired to catch them,” said Bryce, smiling at them, “and, well, you may be right. But I was honestly pleased with your performance. How did your experience differ with an audience?”

Kurt turned to Noah, who was silent during Bryce’s feedback as always. He told him, “I think it was better. We were better.”

Noah looked startled, then wary, as all eyes turned on him.

“Why do you think that was?” Bryce asked.

He may have been speaking to either of them, but Noah answered, slowly, like he was coming out of a dream. “I wasn’t paying attention to anything but the show, and the character I was playing.”

“Focus is crucial,” Bryce agreed, nodding. “Similarly, I believe it’s harder to focus on the tragic elements of one’s part when one is feeling particularly happy.” He peered at Oliver, of all people, who turned bright red and grinned at the floor. Bryce chuckled. “But young people may be forgiven their moments of happiness. Let’s get some rest, children. Our performance is in two days.”

Kurt walked back to Laura Keane on his own, appreciating the cool breeze and the smell of the woods. It struck him that he only had a few more days at Usdan, and then it would be time to go home.

He pulled out his phone and texted Finn. _How are your rehearsals going?_

It took Finn a little while to answer. _Better. We still have a while to go. Did you know act two is even weirder than act one?_

Kurt smiled. _I seem to recall that._ He paused before he added, _Something terrible happened a couple of days ago. Chris is in the hospital. He’s not going to be able to perform._

_Dude. Is he okay?_

_I don’t know. He hasn’t texted me back._

_Are you okay?_

_I’m coping,_ he typed slowly. He got out his handkerchief and blew his nose before going on. _Puck stepped in to play the lead._

_The lead. You mean Puck’s playing Romeo? And you’re Juliet?_

_Yes._

_Holy shit. Who’s playing the role he was doing in the Earnest play?_

_He’s doing both. We’re Friday, and the Earnest play is on Saturday._

_Wow, that’s intense. But I bet he’s doing good, right?_

He sighed. _I think he’s not actually doing all that well. But his acting is great. How’s Michael?_

There was a long pause. By the time Finn responded, Kurt was back in his room. _Bro, that’s a deflection._

_Yes, it was, and how did you know that?_

_Michael told me what it was called._

Kurt blinked. It was eleven-thirty-eight at night. _Is Michael there with you? Oh my god, are you answering a text from your stepbrother during a date?_

 _It’s not really a date,_ Finn said. _He’s just sleeping over._

He paused in the doorway, staring at his phone. Asher sighed from his bed and said, “Close the door,” and Kurt did, leaving the lights off.

_He’s sleeping over. In my bed?_

_Not exactly._

“How was dress rehearsal?” Asher asked.

“Really good. I have to get my makeup off.”

“Just turn on the light. I’m awake.” Asher was, barely. He blinked, gesturing at Kurt’s phone. “Everything okay?”

“It’s my stepbrother, Finn. His—the guy he’s been seeing, I guess it’s getting serious? At least, he’s spending the night with Finn’s mom’s permission, anyway. Jesus.” He blew out an amazed breath. “Things do change in five weeks.”

 _I’m really happy for you,_ he replied to Finn, before putting his phone away. He didn’t text Noah, nor did he look at his phone again before morning.

* * *

On Thursday, Kurt managed to avoid Noah. The cast of _Romeo & Juliet_ were exempt from morning classes while the cast of _Earnest_ had an extended class in period makeup and costuming before their dress rehearsal. No one from _Earnest_ attended senior masterclass that afternoon. It was a sad little group without Trinity, Chris, or Bryce to lead them. They all sat around looking at one another and at the exercises written on the board, but eventually most of the senior campers left.

“I don’t know how Bryce is doing it,” Kurt told Yvonne as they stacked the chairs and washed off the board. “What kind of a drug would a seventy-year-old man need to keep going after directing two shows, six nights a week? I mean, okay, maybe he’s sleeping in until noon every day, I don’t know, but… it’s a lot.”

“I think he loves it,” Yvonne said. “I bet that helps. I never want to have a job I do just because I have to.”

“Well, neither would I, but there’s something to be said for getting a break every now and then, right?”

Kurt paused beside the staircase, then headed down the hall toward Noah and Peyton’s room. He knocked on the door.

After a long pause, he heard Noah call, “‘Sup?”

“Are you alone?” Kurt asked.

“Maybe.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re smoking in your room.”

“Not if Manoj is with you, I’m not.”

Kurt sighed. “Do you really want to get kicked out the day before our performance?” There was no reply. “I won’t tell anybody. My room is still empty for an hour and a half if you want company.”

“No, thanks.” There was another pause. “If it makes you feel better, I put out the joint.”

It did and it didn’t, but Kurt just said, “Break a leg tonight. I’ll be watching with Oliver.”

“Yeah, okay.”

It was hard to believe this was the same person who’d recited such eloquent and moving passages to him on stage the night before. Kurt decided to take Bryce’s advice and return to his room to rest. It felt like a waste of time in so many ways, but Asher was already napping, and he didn’t want to bother him by doing other things.

Just before he put his head on his pillow, he checked his text messages from Chris, to make sure he hadn’t responded yet. He wondered if they’d taken Chris’s phone at the hospital, or if Chris simply didn’t want to talk to him. Maybe it was too painful to consider someone else had taken over his part.

Within minutes of setting his phone down, Kurt was asleep.

* * *

Oliver saved him a seat in the third row for the dress rehearsal of _Earnest_ that evening. Kurt smiled at the underclassmen around them, who looked a little surprised to see him there.

“You’re that guy who played Julian in _Romeo & Juliet_, right?” said one girl.

“Is the dude who played Romeo really your boyfriend?” demanded a boy.

“Yes, and yes,” said Kurt. He looked up at the stage. “Where’s Anthony? His character doesn’t come on until the second act, right?”

“He’s filling in for Chris,” said Oliver. “Stage manager. He said it’s a lot more work than he expected it to be.”

Kurt thought about all the additional tasks Trinity had handled as stage manager of _Romeo & Juliet_. “I think I’ll stick to acting, thanks. Hey, where are you from?”

“Queens. I go to Frank Sinatra. It’s a performing arts public school, about a half hour from here. My instrument’s piano. Acting’s just something I do for fun.” Oliver looked at Kurt curiously. “You’re a singer, right?”

Kurt shrugged wistfully. “I might have said I was at one point. I play piano, too, but not well enough to call it my instrument. It seems that singing is something I just do _for fun,_ too.”

“I would say acting is definitely your instrument, Kurt,” Oliver said, with a grin. “And we can all have things we’re good at—and things we’re _not_ good at. For example, I can’t sing at all. So you’re not going to school for performing?”

“Puck and I have one more year before—before we’re done.” _Before college,_ he couldn’t say, because Noah wasn’t doing that. “But if you’re in New York, you could visit Anthony when he goes to NYADA next year.”

“If my parents let me.”

He paused. “Oh, are they… do they know you’re—?”

“I’m bi. No, it’s not that, they’re just really strict about practice. I am, too. And I hear NYADA is crazy competitive, so he’s probably going to have to focus.”

Kurt touched his arm. “I think he really likes you a lot.”

A quick smile bloomed on his face and was gone. “Yeah, I like him too. I’m just trying to be practical about it.”

“Isn’t love one of those things you get to be ridiculous and extravagant about?”

Oliver shook his head seriously. “Not if you want to succeed in music.”

It wasn’t unlike what Asher had said—or, for that matter, what Noah had said about Michael. _If he’s gonna make it as a freshman at NYADA, he can’t spend all his energy obsessing over anybody, no matter if they’re a dude or a chick._ Kurt sighed, leaning back in the auditorium’s folding seat. “I have a really hard time not focusing on love when it’s right in my face.”

“Puck is hard to ignore in any capacity,” Oliver agreed.

The performance was nothing short of exquisite. Asher and Noah had been very good when Kurt watched them perform the scenes from Act One, two weeks earlier. Now, they were notably better, speaking their lines more quickly and confidently without sounding like they were rushing one bit.

Algernon’s persistence and Jack’s caginess about his adventures in the country made for a fascinating setup, but Kurt was even more distracted by watching Noah parade around the stage in his dressing gown and waistcoat. _Hard to ignore, indeed,_ he thought, and swallowed as Noah stripped off his gloves with a dramatic flourish.

Algy using his imaginary sick friend Bunbury, and Jack using his imaginary brother Ernest, as excuses to have time for unspecified activities, were painfully witty.

“Now that I know you to be a confirmed Bunburyist I naturally want to talk to you about Bunburying.” Noah reached for Asher’s hand over the cucumber sandwiches. “I want to tell you the rules.”

“I’m not a Bunburyist at all,” Asher insisted, pulling away. “If Gwendolen accepts me, I am going to get rid of Ernest, and I strongly advise you to do the same with your invalid friend.”

“Nothing will induce me to part with Bunbury,” declared Noah. “And if you ever get married, which seems to me extremely problematic, you will be very glad to know Bunbury. A man who marries without knowing Bunbury has a very tedious time of it.”

Asher somehow managed to blush, even under his stage makeup. “That is nonsense. If I marry a charming girl like Gwendolen, I certainly won’t want to know Bunbury.”

“Then your wife will.” Noah sniffed. “You don’t seem to realize, that in married life three is company and two is none.”

Ian’s friend Teresa, playing the role of Algernon’s cousin Gwendolen, was far too sweet for Kurt’s preference, but Grace was wonderfully severe as Lady Bracknell. She chastised Algernon for every little thing, and put Jack through the wringer for attempting to propose to Gwendolen, given that he had no idea who his parents were.

“To be born, or at any rate bred, in a hand-bag,” she said, her nose in the air, “whether it had _handles_ or not, seems to me to display a contempt for the ordinary decencies of family life that reminds one of the worst excesses of the French Revolution.”

Everything fit together wonderfully—or terribly, if Bryce’s interpretation of the play as a tragedy was to be believed. As Jack made plans to have Gwendolen visit him at his country address, Algernon did all he could to sabotage their courtship in favor of Jack’s continued philandering.

While Teresa as Gwendolen waved goodbye to Asher, Noah stood across the stage, blatantly spying on them and laughing.

Asher turned on Noah angrily. “What on earth are you so amused at?”

“Oh, I’m a little anxious about poor Bunbury, that is all,” Noah replied.

Asher scowled. “If you don’t take care, your friend Bunbury will get you into a serious scrape some day.” It was hard not to hear that as a veiled threat.

“I love scrapes,” Noah said, leaning close. He poked Asher in the chest. “They are the only things that are never serious.”

“Oh, that’s nonsense, Algy,” Asher snapped, his temper rising to a breaking point. “You never talk anything but nonsense.”

Noah gazed at him with complete sincerity. “Nobody ever does.”

As Asher stormed off, Noah tapped a cigarette from his case and lit it, smiling to himself as the curtain fell.

Oliver looked confused. “Why did he write Jack’s address on his shirt-cuff?”

“So he can go to Jack’s house and find out more about his ward Cecily.” Kurt smiled. “Puck’s father told me _Cecily_ was the word at the time for a young male prostitute.”

Oliver didn’t overreact when Anthony came in at the beginning of Act Two looking amazing in his butlers’ tuxedo, but Oliver seldom overreacted about anything. When Trinity, playing Cecily, said to Noah, “I hope you have not been leading a double life, pretending to be wicked and being really good all the time; that would be hypocrisy,” however, Oliver laughed aloud.

“She’s funny,” he whispered to Kurt, like it had never occurred to him their stage manager could also be a comic actress.

When Asher arrived and discovered Noah had come to his house, pretending to be his wicked brother Ernest, he was aghast. Noah went right up to him and presented his hand.

“Brother John,” he said with grave sincerity, “I have come down from town to tell you that I am very sorry for all the trouble I have given you, and that I intend to lead a better life in the future.”

“Uncle Jack!” Trinity put her hands on her hips. “You are not going to refuse your own brother’s hand?”

Asher turned his indignant glare to Noah. “Nothing will induce me to take his hand! I think his coming down here disgraceful. He knows perfectly well why.”

“Uncle Jack, do be nice.There is some good in every one.” She gazed with rapture at Noah. “Ernest has just been telling me about poor Mr. Bunbury, and his terrible state of health.”

“I must say that I think that Brother John’s coldness to me is peculiarly painful,” Noah said with exaggerated sorrow.

She turned back to Asher and stamped her foot. “Uncle Jack, if you don’t shake hands with Ernest, I will never forgive you.”

He paused a good long time before approaching Noah with obvious trepidation. “Well,… this is the last time I shall ever do it.” When he held out his hand, Noah flung his arms around him as the audience laughed.

Noah attempted to woo Cecily with flowery words and surprising patience: “Cecily, ever since I first looked upon your wonderful and incomparable beauty, I have dared to love you wildly, passionately, devotedly, hopelessly.” He appeared to be truly enjoying her company, even if he did later agree it wouldn’t bother him to wait until he was thirty-five to marry her.

Kurt found himself laughing through the entire second act, in which both Jack and Algernon’s deceptions were found out by the women they’d proposed to, and the women abandoned them in the garden together.

“How can you sit there, calmly eating muffins when we are in this horrible trouble, I can’t make out,” Asher demanded of Noah. “You seem to me to be perfectly heartless.”

“Well, I can’t eat muffins in an agitated manner,” Noah explained patiently. “The butter would probably get on my cuffs.One should always eat muffins quite calmly.It is the only way to eat them.”

The third act was, if a little improbable, very satisfying. Noah explained to Lady Bracknell how Bunbury was had died by being “found out” —“The doctors found out that Bunbury could not live, so Bunbury died.”— and Cecily’s tutor, Miss Prism, was discovered to be the caregiver who’d accidentally abandoned baby Jack in a handbag 28 years ago. Lady Bracknell turned out to be Jack’s aunt as well as Algernon’s, which made Algy and Jack brothers after all. Even more improbably, Jack’s given name at birth was revealed to be Earnest.

“That was _weird,”_ Oliver said, smiling big as the cast bowed and they all clapped. “But they were really good.”

Oliver and Kurt stayed while Bryce gave the cast their notes, and they all headed back to Laura Keane together. The cast, still in their makeup, carried the energy of their performance with them, chattering excitedly. Noah stayed on the perimeter of the group, avoiding conversation, but he didn’t altogether abandon them, which Kurt thought was an improvement from his usual post-show ghosting strategy.

“I don’t know why you said Bryce called it a tragedy,” Oliver said to Anthony. “I mean, it definitely had a happy ending.”

“It’s really not a tragedy or a comedy,” said Trinity. “It’s satire. Bryce’s point was that any life which is built around an elaborate plot to avoid being honest about who you are is a tragedy.”

“Yeah, but when the only choice is to cry about something,” said Grace, “sometimes the best choice is to laugh.”

“Or viciously cut someone with your words,” Ian added.

“What did you think?” Asher asked.

It took Kurt a moment to realize Asher was talking to him.

“It was hilarious,” he said. “And sad. I mean, all of your performances were fantastic. I laughed through the whole thing, if that counts for anything.”

It was pleasant to be in one place with so many people who had been at odds with one another all week and for no one to be in conflict. It also made Kurt realize how much he missed Finn and his dad and Carole and everyone from Glee club. He eyed Noah across the path, but Noah didn’t look at him.

“You are a really good actor,” Kurt told Asher as they got ready for bed.

Asher looked surprised, but also pleased. “Thanks, Kurt. You are, too. I’m glad you were there tonight.” After a pause, he added, “I know Puck was glad you were, too.”

Kurt picked up his phone after turning off the light.

 _I hope tomorrow will be a fine day,_ he typed.

It was morning before he received a reply from Noah, with the completion of the quote from _Earnest_ : _It never is._

* * *

Kurt halfway expected the day of their performance to feel different, but it didn’t. He ate breakfast with Asher and Bethany and Grace, and lunch with Anthony and Oliver. They had morning class as usual, although their afternoon masterclass was suspended in favor of a mildly competitive game of volleyball. Kurt suspected that was more to give Bryce a chance to rest than anything else. Noah largely avoided him, and Kurt didn’t pursue him. There was still no news about Chris’s condition, other than to continue to say he was recovering.

Carole texted him at several points along the drive to tell him where they were.

 _We’ll arrive in plenty of time for the show,_ she said, _but we won’t see you until afterward. You just stay focused._

“I don’t really feel all that focused,” Kurt admitted to Asher as he put on his soccer costume. “I just feel confused. Everything is happening too quickly.”

“I think this is what Bryce meant when we have to lean on what we’ve practiced.” Asher shrugged. “If it helps, you don’t seem confused.”

He smiled. “I guess the way it seems is what matters in show business.”

Asher gave him a hug. “Break a leg. It’s going to be great.”

Kurt thought about what Noah had said earlier that week, about acting like someone who wasn’t scared. He decided he would act like someone who wasn’t confused, and see what happened.

It seemed like a reasonable solution—until they were waiting backstage, the curtain still down, listening to the hush of the packed auditorium, and Kurt glanced across the dim space to Noah, standing nearby. His stomach lurched, and he felt the abrupt prickle of tears behind his eyes.

 _How do I learn to act like someone who isn’t in love with you?_ he wondered.

Then Trinity called, “Places,” and they moved into the circle. Kurt took Noah’s hand, and they began.


	19. Chapter 19

After the show was over, even before he could consider removing his makeup, there was a commotion at the dressing room door.

“Kurt!” he heard a familiar voice call.

It was a voice he’d never thought he would hear at Usdan, and it made his heart skip.

“Blaine?”

Around the edge of the dressing room door, he caught a glimpse of Blaine’s dark curls, his eager face as he strained to be seen over the taller crowd. Behind him, there were other familiar faces. Kurt went out in the hallway—and was suddenly surrounded by Finn and a half-dozen other members of Glee club.

“What are you all doing here?” he gasped. The smile felt like it shot right up through him from his heart and onto his face.

“We came to see you perform,” said Mercedes, beaming. “Finn told us about the performance, and that you and Puck would both be in it. We couldn’t miss it. And you were both _amazing.”_

One at a time, Kurt hugged Tina and Mike and Quinn and Finn and Michael. He managed not to burst into tears until he got to Blaine, who was holding a dozen roses and was impeccably dressed in a suit and bow tie.

“I can’t believe you came,” Kurt bawled. “Especially after everything I said—the way I treated you.”

“You should know me better than that by now,” said Blaine, smiling radiantly. “I’m not going to let a little misunderstanding keep me from seeing you perform _Romeo & Juliet.”_

He let Kurt cry all over his suit without one complaint about the makeup stains. Then Blaine kissed him, first his cheek, then his lips, whispering to him how much he missed him. It was almost too much for him to bear.

“There’s somebody I want you to meet,” Kurt said at last. He took the roses in one hand and clasped Blaine’s in the other, turning to the rest of the group. “Come on, everybody.”

The lobby was still full of family members hugging their young performers. Kurt had to thread his way through the crowd to get to Asher and Trinity, standing together by the ticket booth. Asher was smiling, but as soon as he saw who was with Kurt, his face went pale.

“This is my roommate, Asher Morgan,” he said to Blaine. “Blaine, Asher’s going to be a senior at Dalton. He’s the boy who was cast as Juror Twelve when I auditioned for Twelve Angry Men. Asher, Blaine.”

Blaine smiled in approval. “I remember. You’re the other one who decided that show was far too racist to perform.”

“Kurt decided the casting was unacceptable, and that gave me the courage to speak up, too,” Asher agreed. He shook Blaine’s hand. “Kurt’s pretty great.”

“You’re telling me,” Blaine said, tucking his arm through Kurt’s.

Asher managed to conceal whatever surprise he felt at this turn of events. He also didn’t seem to be too bothered by being introduced to a handful of Kurt’s closest friends without warning.

“This is my stepbrother, Finn. And this…” Kurt turned to Michael and hesitated, watching Finn for cues as to how to introduce him.

Before either Finn or Kurt could say anything, Michael placed a hand on Finn’s shoulder, holding the other out for Asher to shake. “I’m his boyfriend Michael. Nice to meet you, Asher.”

That set Kurt’s tears off again. He looked up at Finn in amazement, and Finn just grinned and shrugged. “Yeah. But—oh, my god, Kurt, the two of you, everybody was so good!”

“Where’s Puck?” Michael looked around. “He was phenomenal, especially considering he only had a week to prepare. Don’t tell me we missed him?”

“He doesn’t really like curtain calls,” said Kurt.

That was all he said, and they seemed to accept that answer with polite disappointment. Then Kurt’s dad and Carole appeared, and there was another round of hugs and introductions. Asher watched him interact with his dad and Carole with a kind of wonder.

“I’ll tell you, Kurt,” said his dad, “I’ve sat through a lot of musicals with you, and I am pretty sure I have never seen a play where somebody died like _that_ before. Puck made me cry. I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

“The two of you were so dynamic together,” Carole said, with a big smile. “We all wanted to see you get together at the end, even though it was a tragedy.” Then she seemed to remember Blaine was standing there, and her smile fell away. “Uh, that is—”

“That’s what actors do, right, Mrs. Hudson?” Blaine said. “They make you believe what’s not real, is.”

“Well, we’re going to head over to the hotel,” his dad said. “We’re sticking around to see Puck in the _Earnest_ play tomorrow. You’re in that one, too, Asher?”

Asher seemed surprise to be included. “Yeah, I’m playing Jack. I’ll see you all tomorrow, then?”

“Great,” said Finn. “Awesome job, bro.” He gave Kurt one more hug, and said quietly, “We’ll talk later.”

“We’re staying at a motel tonight,” said Tina. “But we’re driving into the city tomorrow before coming back to see Puck. We’ll see you back home after that. I am _so proud_ of you.”

Quinn gave him a tight hug, then clasped his hand, smiling.

 _“Sunday in the Park_ is definitely not as good as this, but I’m glad you get to come see it next week. We are having a great time, all of us.” She included Finn and Michael in her statement. From their glowing expressions, they looked like they agreed with her.

“See you tomorrow.” Blaine leaned in for a kiss on the lips. It was quick enough that Kurt didn’t think he had legitimate grounds to try to duck it. In any case, it made him feel more good things than bad, so he didn’t say anything.

Asher’s eyes were full of questions, but Kurt took a few steps back toward the dressing room, saying, “I probably should—” and Asher waved him off.

“Just text me and let me know if you want the room tonight.”

Kurt shook his head. “You need sleep. Your performance is tomorrow.”

“So is Puck’s,” he said, looking at Kurt with a pointed expression. “I can find another place to sleep. Text me.”

Kurt thought about it the whole time he was taking off his makeup. It was a tempting offer, no matter how weird their week had been. He knew how hard transitions were for Noah. He had no expectation of continuing to have what they had here back in Ohio. All of those people from home, showing up for his performance, that was bound to throw him off. Maybe he should try to apologize, or at least to find him and attempt to listen. But Noah didn’t respond to any of his texts asking him to spend the night, not even when they got a little more graphic than Kurt usually did in text.

“Hey, Kurt!” He looked up to see Anthony behind him in the makeup mirror, standing with Oliver. “We’re having a party in my room. Wanna come?”

He smiled, seeing Oliver’s starstruck expression as he gazed at Anthony. “I think I’m just going to head back to my room and get some sleep. It’s been a long week. But if you see Puck, would you tell him to find me?”

“I think he’s out there talking with Bryce and his dad?”

“His—?” Kurt pushed his chair out in a hurry. “Oh! He’s here?”

He followed Anthony’s pointing finger to the hallway, turned the corner, and saw Bryce, Aaron, Felix, and Noah gathered together. Sarah leapt out of Noah’s arms and charged him.

“Kurt!” she said joyfully.

Kurt laughed and leaned down to hug her. Noah observed it happen with pained embarrassment, but Kurt was pretty sure he saw a grin pass briefly over his face. 

“Did you come with your dad?” he asked Sarah.

“Yeah, and Felix.” She hung on his arm. “We flew in an _airplane._ You played a girl part!”

Aaron watched Sarah and Kurt together with obvious surprise and pleasure. As Kurt drew near, he reached over Noah to shake Kurt’s hand. “That was a gutsy performance, Kurt. Groundbreaking. Have you met Felix?”

“I saw you in _Twelfth Night_ and _Pygmalion_ a few years back, in Dayton,” said Kurt, turning to Felix, “but we haven’t ever spoken. Puck and I go to school together.”

Felix nodded in recognition. “I really enjoyed your interpretation of Julian, Kurt. You have a future in theater.”

“Tomorrow morning, Kurt,” Bryce intoned, “we shall follow the age-old advice of actors the world over.” He raise an eyebrow at Aaron.

In unison, Aaron, Felix, and Noah all said emphatically, “Never read the reviews.”

Kurt laughed. “People write reviews of _camp productions?”_

“They do of Bryce’s productions,” Felix said. “All of them—and especially this one.”

“Although the scope of the reviews will be limited, there were some industry reporters here tonight. I am going to warn you, the reception to my casting decisions may not be positive. And…” Bryce smiled sternly at Kurt. “That will _not_ be due to any inadequacy on your part. You were very, very good.”

Kurt felt the warmth rise into his cheeks. He took one peek at Noah, who was cool and sardonic as ever, then smiled at Bryce. “Thank you so much. For believing in me.”

Bryce tilted his head. “I think that could just as easily go the other way around, Kurt.”

“I’m gonna get out of makeup,” said Noah, indicating the dressing room.

Aaron nodded. “We’ll be here tomorrow night for _Earnest._ Congratulations again, guys.”

Sarah gave Noah one more hug before he walked away. When Kurt followed, Noah didn’t object.

“I didn’t expect to have to deal with reviews,” Kurt admitted.

Noah snorted quietly, seating himself at the mirror and picking up the tub of makeup remover. “Bryce is a big fucking deal. Believe me, when he does something this edgy, everybody’s going to pay attention.”

Kurt nodded slowly. He hesitated before saying, “So… this would have been a really important role for Chris, starting out in professional theater.”

Noah set his jaw. “Or it could have typecast him for eternity.”

“Not as Romeo. Not even a gay Romeo. He said, Romeo is—” Kurt frowned. “Romeo is for actors like you.”

“What are you saying, Kurt?” Noah gazed at him in the mirror, stony-faced.

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Yeah. You’ve been _not saying anything_ all week.” He set the tub of makeup remover down hard on the counter. Kurt took a step back. “Fine. How about you _not say anything_ somewhere else, and let me finish this by myself?”

Kurt hurried out of the dressing room, smiling vaguely at all the people who stopped to congratulate him. As quickly as he could, he made his way back to his room.

Asher looked startled to see him, but opened the door for him.

“You don’t have to go anywhere tonight,” Kurt told him, trying not to let the tears escape. “I’m just going to turn in early.”

Asher nodded. “Did you get a chance to talk to Puck?”

“Briefly. His dad was here, and his sister. I think Bryce flew them in to see the show.”

“Wow.” His eyebrows went up. “That’s a lot of pressure. Is he okay?”

“I’m not sure. He’s not out to anybody else at home. Technically, he’s not even out to some of the people who came with _my_ family, although I think by now he must know none of them would judge him.”

Asher nodded silently. He wandered around the room, getting ready for bed.

“I’m not sure how it would feel to have my family _want_ to come see me perform,” Asher said after a while. “Stressful, for sure. Confusing. I wouldn’t know how to be, who to trust.”

Kurt nodded. “I think that’s how Puck feels all the time.”

“Do you think you’re going to have to deal with the fallout when you go home?”

It was an honest question. Kurt wasn’t sure how to answer. “Puck’s been working on himself. This was the way we agreed we could be here, together, this summer. There wasn’t any understanding of what it might be like when we went back. This… this was all we had.” He sighed. “I do think we need to talk. But he’s not responding to me. Maybe I should expect it to be like that by now.”

Now there was no way he was going to stop the tears. Asher stood back and watched him for a moment, but when he offered a hug, Kurt accepted it gratefully.

“So…” Asher asked, when he was calm again. “What’s going on with _Blaine?”_

Kurt groaned, shaking his head. “Don’t ask. I didn’t even know he was planning to come. Really, I should have expected it. He’s big on surprises.”

Asher gave him a little smile. “It didn’t look so bad from where I was standing.”

“I don’t know,” he said again. But it was true. From where Kurt stood, it didn’t look so bad to him, either.

* * *

As instructed, Kurt did not look at the reviews the next morning—but everybody else did, and they insisted on telling him the choice details over breakfast.

 _“Romeo and Julian are terrific when they kiss,”_ read Bethany, as Kurt hid his face in dismay, _“and they do so with a frequency perfectly in synch with their characters' savage love. But when they're apart, the weight of their roles seems to push them down.”_

 _“The young stars bring a sweet passion, if no ear whatsoever for romantic poetry, to their immortal roles.”_ Grace made a face. “That’s bull. You guys did a really good job with the iambic pentameter.”

Oliver tapped Anthony’s arm as he scrolled on his phone. “Oh, here’s one about you. _As Romeo's disenchanted, provocateur pal, Mercutio, Anthony Gordon languidly delivers his razor-sharp lines.”_

Bethany took a drink of orange juice, still reading, her eyes wide. “The worst stuff is from the blogs, and it’s about Bryce, not about any of you. They’re saying he went beyond _over the top_ and into child endangerment.”

“Right, because teenagers aren’t allowed to be sexual as long as they’re gay,” Kurt said, making a face. “What did he do that was so remarkable? Put two people in a romantic situation?”

Regardless of how unremarkable it seemed to him, Kurt saw several parents visiting Usdan that morning who looked more than a little upset. None of them confronted him, but he did nearly run into two of them, a man and a woman, both blonde, waiting outside Bryce’s door and talking to Trinity in clipped tones. He caught her arm as they headed into Bryce's office.

“I hope that wasn’t about Romeo and Juliet.”

“No.” She sighed. “At least not this time. That one was about what happened with Chris.”

“Those were his parents.” Kurt nodded slowly. “What _did_ happen?”

“You know I can’t tell you.” She didn’t look mad about the question. “I’m pretty sure I don’t know all the details, either. Have you been to visit him?”

That startled him. “I didn’t know we were allowed?”

“It’s a long train ride. You might want to drive, if you can find someone with a car to take you.” She squeezed his hand. “I have to go.”

She didn’t even wait around long enough for him to tell her to break a leg. Kurt was just about to walk away when he heard Noah’s voice behind the closed door of Bryce’s office, saying, “I’m _not_ saying any more.”

Kurt sank down to sit on the floor against the wall, listening. There were no further outbursts, but eventually the door opened and Bryce and Chris’s mother and father and a sullen Noah emerged. When he saw Kurt, his eyes flashed, but he didn’t say anything.

“I believe it will be up to Chris,” said Bryce.

“If he’s able,” said the man. He shot Noah one more look of pure anger before taking the woman’s arm and leading her away.

“He’s an adult,” said Bryce to Noah. “His parents can’t require it of you.”

“I know, I’m just—” Noah shook his head. “Whatever. I don’t care what they think about me. They hated me before this, anyway.”

Kurt waited where he was until Bryce beckoned to him. Bryce gazed down at both of them, but he spoke to Noah.

“One more performance. It has been a week of achievements. Please, do not consider it any less than that.”

Noah’s eyes closed, and he nodded. Bryce returned to his office and closed the door, leaving them alone in the hallway.

“What do you want?” Noah asked Kurt, his eyes still closed.

“Nothing. I heard you talking in Bryce’s office and I thought I’d wait for you.” Kurt put as much space between him and Noah as he could without having to shout. “I want to help, or at least not make it worse. Is there anything—”

“No.” Noah had put away whatever anger or other feelings he’d been experiencing, and was back to being that terrible blank persona Kurt had seen backstage at _Romeo & Juliet._ “Nothing.”

“Fine.” Kurt shook his head in irritation. “You can close yourself off to me all you want. Whatever you think you need to do. Just don’t expect me to know when you’re ready to talk to me again.”

“You can ask.” Noah turned away. “But I’m not always going to have the answers you want to hear.”

* * *

Blaine and Kurt’s family and everyone from Glee club joined him at dinner on Saturday night, which was apparently another Usdan tradition. Noah did not appear. The dining room was so full that most of the campers and their families ate outside under the trees.

“The city was so crowded and hot,” Tina told him. “Not like when we went to Nationals. I guess it is July. Did you get to go at all while you were here?”

“Last Sunday. I went with… some friends.” Kurt ate slowly, thinking how long ago that day felt. “We saw a street performance of _A Comedy of Errors.”_

Blaine smiled at him. “This has been quite a summer for you.”

“I learned so much. A lot of the classes were good. All the other campers are incredibly talented. And Bryce, the director of the two productions, is amazing.”

Finn and Michael didn’t bring up Chris, though Kurt could tell Finn was watching him closely. He guessed his dad and Carole probably knew, too, considering how loathe Finn was to keep secrets.

“Now that it’s over, does it feel weird to know you’re never going to do that show again?” Blaine asked.

Kurt shook his head. “You know, I think I will, someday. Probably never Juliet again, but a different part in that play. Certainly I’ll do more Shakespeare. All the things I learned, I’ll carry them with me.”

He sat between Finn and his dad at the performance of _Earnest_ , fielding questions about what was going on with the convoluted plot, but he was also watching Aaron and Felix, who were sitting with Sarah two rows ahead of them. Aaron never took his eyes off the stage when Noah was performing.

Everything went smoothly, brilliantly, and Kurt rose without hesitation to give them a standing ovation at the end. Noah and Asher held hands and took the final bow together, smiling at the house, then turned and shook hands as brothers.

“I think Puck was even _better_ in that one,” said Mike, his eyes enormous. “Jeez. I remember hearing about that production you guys did in Brit Lit, but this…”

“He’s a real actor,” said Tina. She smiled at Kurt. “You are, too.”

Blaine went on and on about Asher as they filed out of the auditorium. “Kurt, he was so funny! Do you think he sings? Maybe he’d like to audition for the Warblers.”

“I know he’s a dancer,” Kurt said, “but I’ve never heard him sing. I can ask.”

Quinn and Michael were whispering and laughing about something. Kurt moved to walk beside Finn as the crowd slowly dispersed.

“Michael and Quinn are friends now?”

“They kind of are,” Finn said, grinning. “If Quinn wasn’t already dating Scott, I might worry about them getting together.”

Kurt raised both eyebrows. “Scott? You mean the bass player from jazz band? Is he really her type?”

“He’s in _Sunday in the Park_ , too. He’s playing Jules.” He shrugged. “I really think she’s just using him for his pot.”

 _“Quinn?”_ Kurt choked. “God. Sounds like a lot of things happened while I was here. You and Michael?”

Finn nodded. “Me and Michael. You and Puck?”

“I would have said yes until a couple of days ago.”

He dropped his voice. “What about Chris?”

“He’s in the hospital. I want to go and see him before we head home, but… I don’t even know what happened. He’s not answering my texts. Everybody thinks Puck had something to do with it, and he won’t say.”

“Well, I’m sure mom and Burt would be fine stopping at the hospital, if that’s what you want to do.”

Kurt looked back over his shoulder at Blaine, talking with Tina. “I really have no idea what I want to do. But I think I should at least do that.”

They all went to the stage door, where they managed to find both Asher and Puck, out of costume but not out of makeup. Puck suffered through hugs and handshakes, being reasonably gracious to everyone who told him how fantastic he was, before saying, “I should probably talk to my dad,” motioning to the auditorium, and escaping inside.

Noah’s abrupt departure was overshadowed by the appearance of Grace and Anthony, and Kurt facilitated yet another round of introductions. Meanwhile, Blaine had cornered Asher and was grilling him about his singing ability.

“I can sing,” Asher assured him. “We were just focused on other things while we were here.”

“Seriously, you guys spent six weeks together and you didn’t even do karaoke?” Blaine demanded. “How is that even possible?”

Kurt thought he did a pretty good job of staying engaged with the conversation, but at some point Michael leaned over and murmured, “Kurt, just go look for him already.”

“I’m really not waiting for him,” he said.

Michael gave him a skeptical look. “You’re waiting for _something.”_

“We’re gonna head back to the motel, Kurt,” said his dad. “This was great. We’ll see you in the morning.”

Blaine gave him one more hug. “We’ll talk when you get home.” His gorgeous smile made Kurt feel like smiling, too, even on top of all the other things he was feeling. “I love you so much.”

“I’ll walk them back to the parking lot,” Asher told Kurt. “Maybe I’ll see you at the cast party.”

The auditorium was completely empty by now. The stage crew had moved the props and furniture into the wings, leaving the stage bare. Kurt strode out into the center, finding the tape marks to indicate the placement of the picnic table, then moved further downstage, to the spot when Romeo had noticed Julian for the first time.

He opened his mouth, but he it wasn’t lines from Romeo and Juliet that came out, but the song he’d sung on another New York City stage, months before:

_I’ve heard it said that people come into our lives  
_ _For a reason, bringing something we must learn  
_ _And we are led to those who help us most to grow  
_ _If we let them, and we help them in return…_

Kurt stopped singing when he noticed Noah standing stage right, in the shadow of the curtain.

“You don’t have to stop,” Noah said.

He laughed uncertainly. “I can’t believe I spent all this time here and never once sang on this stage.” He took a few steps forward, to the place where he’d caught Noah’s hand and kept him from falling. “I guess my priorities have changed.”

Noah began a slow walk, heading downstage left. “Or maybe you were just distracted from the things that matter.”

“You think I shouldn’t be focusing on acting?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Well, if you pay attention to the reviews—” He held up a hand when Noah frowned. “—which were read _to_ me, not by me—we didn’t do all that well.”

“No critic ever gives productions of _Romeo & Juliet_ good reviews. Bryce said we did a good job, and I believe him.”

“And what do you think? Did we do a good job?”

“You know what I think.” Noah gazed at him across the stage. “I’ll never forget this.”

Kurt faced him. “Even with everything else that happened?”

“Yeah, well, there are a few things I’d rather forget, but… you take the good with the bad, right?”

He took a step toward Noah. “You know what people are saying about you.”

“I’ve heard them.”

Kurt watched his implacable face with mounting frustration. “That you came back with blood all over you. That you—took advantage of Chris.”

“What exactly are you asking, Kurt?” Noah stared at him in disbelief.“You really think I’m capable of that?”

“You’re actually asking _me_ that? After you tossed me in the dumpster and slushied me for months?” Kurt refused to look away. “I used to be scared of you, you know? Ever since you threw a chair at Kevin Waterford during rehearsals for Grease.”

“So you’re telling me it doesn’t matter what I say, you’re not going to trust me?”

“No, but—” He shook his head insistently. “I’m having a hard time reconciling what I heard about how you treated others with what you’re telling me now.”

“Treated others?” he scoffed. “Like Kevin fucking Waterford, who deserved it?”

“No, like _Ian,_ who clearly didn’t!”

“This has nothing to do with Ian, or what he deserved.” Noah narrowed his eyes. “Trust me, whatever you think went down that summer, you don’t know anything about what happened between him and me.”

“I know what Chris told me: that you intimidated Ian into a nervous breakdown.”

“Fine. We’ve established I’m a violent prick who needs to exert control over others to feel good about myself.” He made a little bow-and-flourish. “Happy?”

“Not really.” He put his hands on his hips. “And you didn’t answer my question.” 

“You want to know the truth?” Noah glanced around the empty auditorium, and lowered his voice as he drew closer to Kurt. “Chris texted me in the morning because he was too scared to tell the police what really happened—and I didn’t tell _anybody,_ because I promised I wouldn’t, and I’m not telling you either. I hitchhiked into Queens, saw what kind of shape he was in, and called an ambulance. _That’s_ the truth.”

“All right,” said Kurt, trying to keep his voice steady. “Which leads me to my second question. Even if it wasn’t you doing the—the hurting. Did you take advantage of it so you could have his part?”

Noah tilted his head. Then he nodded very slowly, his lip curling.

“Ah. So _that’s_ how you see me.”

“That’s how other people see you,” Kurt snapped. “I’m asking you for the truth. Tell me that never crossed your mind.”

“And so what if it did, Kurt? So what?” Noah rushed at him, spitting the words like they were poison. Kurt flinched, but held his ground. “I mean, you know what Chris says about taking every possible advantage that’s handed to you. Why _wouldn’t_ I feel great about having this part fall in my lap? So what if all I can see when I close my eyes is his battered face, blood everywhere, his black eye, his punctured lung? For that matter, who cares how many people are talking about me behind my back, wondering just what you’re accusing me of now? Since when am I in theater to make friends?” He pointed at the set, the wings, the stage. “It’s the truth. This is what I’m here for. This is the only thing I am good at, Kurt. There is nothing else in the world I can do but this, and I shouldn’t let anything stand in my way.” He spread both his arms in violent totality as his voice rose to fill the space. “It’s the ultimate quote from Hamlet, right? _This above all: to thine own self be true.”_

As Kurt’s heart pounded dully in his throat, Noah laughed. It rang through the theater, a terrible sound. He turned back to Kurt as his hands fell to his sides.

“Except that quote is said by Polonius, the shittiest hypocrite of a human being Shakespeare ever invented. Nobody thinks about that when they say it: that the point he was making was that good advice doesn’t mean shit if it’s coming from somebody you can’t trust.”

He wheeled slowly, looking up into the fly tower, then back to the house.

“Maybe that’s just how it is. Maybe I get to be Polonius and not Hamlet.” His voice was quiet now. “I would rather follow Hamlet's advice any day. _Let your own discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the word to the action._ He said that acting can’t be too subtle or too overblown, but somewhere in between. It has to feel natural, because the purpose of theatre isn’t to tell a story, but to imitate nature, to reflect its truth to the world.”

He turned to Kurt, with no trace of a smile. His eyes were so sad, and the disappointment was written plainly on his face.

“The truth, the god’s-honest truth, is that no matter how much crap I knew I was going to get for taking over Chris’s part, I wanted it. I wanted to play Romeo opposite your Julian so badly because there was no better way I could think to show the world how much I love you, Kurt. Even if I can’t do it out there, where nobody trusts me and everything is impossible, I thought I could do it in here, in this place. This theater, where I had Bryce telling me I was good for something after all. I thought I could count on you to tell me that, too.” He took a step back, shaking his head. “I was wrong.”

Kurt stayed where he was, afraid to move, to even breathe, until Noah had left the stage. He heard the back door open and close. Then he turned around and carefully made his way down the steps to the house and up the aisle to the back. He turned and took one last look at the vacant stage. It hurt to think this might be the last memory he had of the Usdan auditorium, but he supposed he deserved it.

 _But then you never would have known the truth,_ he thought. And, even worse: _Maybe you still don’t._

* * *

Kurt learned at breakfast that Puck had left without saying goodbye to anyone. Nobody seemed all that disappointed about it. Kurt got plenty of hugs, though, and he exchanged phone numbers with all the people he wanted to keep in touch with.

“I want to hear all about NYADA,” he told Anthony. “And don’t let Oliver’s quiet act fool you, okay? He likes you.”

Anthony grinned. “I think I’m pretty convinced of that. Whatever happens, we’ll stay friends. You let me know how things go with Puck. I thought, after neither of you showed up at the cast party last night, that maybe…?”

“No,” said Kurt. He took a deep breath. “I think that might be over. But it’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”

Bethany presented him and Asher with little origami flowers she’d made for them to take home.

“I’ll miss you guys,” she said through tears. “So much. Please tell me you’re planning to come back next summer? I’m hoping to be Bryce's summer intern.”

“I’ll be here.” Asher gave her another hug. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I’m not sure yet,” said Kurt. “I think it’ll depend on—a lot of things.”

He tried not to think about the things as Finn helped him load his luggage into the Navigator. They picked up a copy of the camp photo from Mrs. Brewer at the front desk, rows of familiar and unfamiliar faces standing in front of the auditorium. Kurt found himself, and Asher and Bethany, and Anthony and Grace, and Oliver with Noah’s roommate Peyton and the rest of the underclassmen. Noah and Chris were mugging in the back.

“You want to do anything else before we head out?” Carole asked. “Anyone else you want to see?”

“Can we stop at St. Joseph Hospital on the way out of town?” he asked. “I really have to talk to Chris, even if he doesn’t want to talk to me.”

It wasn’t a long drive. Michael and Finn stayed in the car while Carole and his dad rode with him in the elevator to the sixth floor.

“We’ll wait at the nurse’s station,” his dad said. “You let us know if you need anything.”

Kurt eyed the security guard as he approached Chris’s room. He paused before knocking on the door, noting the label _Janssen, C., NPO_ on the sign on the wall. Then, still feeling uncertain, he went inside.

The first thing he saw was the figure in the bed. He could tell it was Chris because of his fine blonde hair, but that was about the only way he could be sure. Most of the surface of Chris’s face was swollen and bruised and covered with tiny plastic stitches, sticking out in all directions like pine needles. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was open. There was a mask over his mouth, and a tube coming out of it ran to a machine beside the bed. There were so many machines.

Kurt put his arms around himself and hugged tightly, willing himself not to run out of the room. It was so much worse than when his dad had his heart attack. At least with his dad, he could see his face.

Then he became aware of a second figure, sprawled on the vinyl-covered recliner in the corner. It was Noah, sound asleep, his chest rising and falling in a regular rhythm.

Kurt stood there for a long time, wondering if he should be there at all. When a nurse came in, he left before she could ask him any questions.

He rode the whole way home in the back of the Navigator with his headphones on, listening to the same playlist over and over on repeat. Every now and then Carole would look at him with worried eyes over her shoulder, but he didn’t say anything, and she didn’t ask him to.

They stopped for dinner at a family restaurant. He knew it was meant to provide him with a chance to get out of the car and walk around, but Kurt asked, “Would it be okay if I stayed in the car and rested? I’m feeling a little under the weather. You can get me a salad to go.”

His dad looked like he wanted to object, but Carole put her arm firmly through his and walked him inside. Michael and Finn went with them, leaving Kurt alone in the car. It took him about thirty seconds to start crying, and about fifteen minutes to stop again. After that, he just wrapped his arms around his head and tried to stop thinking about anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excerpts of actual reviews of Romeo & Juliet stolen from broadwayworld.com.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can, and absolutely should, watch [the entire filmed version of the original Broadway cast of Sunday in the Park with George](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFQGkm2VFy4) on YouTube. Mandy Patinkin and Bernadette Peters and, like, the whole freaking original Broadway cast of Into the Woods. I watched it four times in the course of writing this story.
> 
> Thanks to Lena for ideas for staging and lighting.
> 
> Warning in this chapter for minor character death. If you've been waiting for this story to get less angsty, well, this is not where it happens. Sorry. 
> 
> -amy

Kurt didn’t call Noah until four days after camp was over, the day before Finn and Michael’s show. When Noah didn’t answer his cell or respond to his text message, he called the house number.

 _“Go for Puckerman,”_ said a voice much younger than Noah’s.

Kurt smiled. “Hi, Sarah. It’s Kurt.”

 _“Hey.”_ Sarah’s voice dropped to a whisper. _“Ma told me I’m not supposed to talk to you.”_

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t, then. I don’t want to get you in trouble?”

 _“It’s okay. I’m in the kitchen. Did you know we have a new stove? The oven works and everything! And Michael and Finn replaced the countertop on the—”_ There was a pause, followed by the sound of arguing. He could hear her say, _“It’s just Kurt. I won’t!”_ Sarah let out a long sigh that sounded way too old for eight. _“In a minute!”_ she called again.

“Is Noah there?”

_“He’s at Dad’s. I don’t think he’s coming home for a while.”_

Kurt knew he shouldn’t feel disappointed by this, but he did. Noah had told him he wanted to see _Sunday in the Park with George._

“Well, if he does come home, please let him know there’s a ticket waiting for him at will-call for the Sunday matinee. Do you want to come with us?”

 _“I’ll ask Ma?”_ She sounded hopeful. _“She’s always busy hanging out with her new boyfriend.”_

“Boyfriends aren’t a bad thing.”

 _“Yeah, I guess. Hang on.”_ There was a muffled pause, then a protest of _“Why not?”_ and a sharp retort before Sarah came back on. _“She says theater’s a bad influence.”_

“You know I don’t agree with that,” said Kurt, “and neither does Noah, or your dad.”

 _“Yeah. Thanks anyway.”_ Sarah sounded disappointed. _“What did you do to piss Noah off this time?”_

“I accused him of doing something he didn’t do. Or maybe of _not_ doing something he should have.”

_“Well… he didn’t actually seem so mad this time, so maybe he really did do it. He breaks the rules a lot, you know?”_

“I know.” Kurt sighed. “I think everyone else expects him to break the rules, but I’ve mostly been on his side. So when it was _me_ accusing him, that really hurt his feelings.”

He heard Mrs. Puckerman’s insistent voice in the background. _“I gotta go. Bye.”_

It felt particularly strange to be back in his old room, not because he’d been gone so long, but because Kurt knew Michael had become accustomed to spending the night while he was away. Since they’d arrived home, Kurt had watched Finn and Michael cutting short their dates and Finn prowling restlessly around the house after he left. Kurt knew exactly how that felt.

“You know,” he told Finn, as they set the table for dinner, “when Puck and I were at Usdan, the week before the show, we arranged to have privacy in my room for a couple of hours each afternoon. It gave us a sanctuary, where we could do anything we needed to do together, alone, without time pressure. I mean, mostly we slept and fought, in addition to the obvious, but I think that’s what we needed to do.”

Finn shrugged, glancing around. “That sounds about right.”

“Why don’t you and Michael do that?”

Now he was just relieved. “That would be okay with you? Just a couple of hours would be… yeah.”

“I know it’s not the same as having him there overnight.”

“No, that’s—it’s okay,” Finn said quickly. “I mean, I really liked having him spend the night, but… it’s pretty crowded in that little bed? There wasn’t a lot of sleeping, and I think we could kind of use that before the performance.”

“Is Blaine coming for dinner again?” Carole called from the kitchen.

Finn looked at Kurt sharply as he called back, “Yes, he’ll be here in about twenty minutes.”

“So what’s that all about?” He handed Kurt the sixth plate. “You guys dating now or what?”

“No,” Kurt said. “Not dating. He’s helping me with something.”

Finn still looked suspicious, but he didn’t press or tease him. It was something Kurt particularly appreciated about Finn.

Kurt met Blaine at the door with a hug. He accepted his kiss on the cheek without comment. “How was the drive?”

“Terrible. August is construction season for sure. I bet you’re glad not to be making that drive quite so often anymore.” He gave Kurt a coy smile. “Or maybe you will be? You think you and Asher…?”

“Not at all. He’s a friend, and a good one, but that’s all.”

“Well, he sure is cute. Something about dancers, I don’t know. There was this one boy at Six Flags—Kurt, I could have watched him all day.” He gave a little shimmy of ecstasy.

“Just watched?” Kurt glanced back as he led him down the stairs to the basement.

Blaine grinned. “Since when do you want details? I mean… we _were_ taking a break, right? It wasn’t cheating.”

“I didn’t say it was,” Kurt protested. Blaine laughed, giving him another half-hug.

“Well, not _exactly_ just watched. But he was definitely not ready for anything like a relationship.” As they sat on the edge of Kurt’s bed, Blaine touched his knee. “Maybe you would know something about how that feels?”

“Maybe.”

“So the two of you aren’t together right now?”

“No,” Kurt said reluctantly. “But, Blaine, that doesn’t mean I want to get back together with you.”

Blaine inclined his head in what Kurt interpreted to be awareness, if not agreement. “Not as boyfriends, then, but… as friends who once dated, you’ve got to know I understand what you’re going through. If you need anything, I’m here.” He patted Kurt’s leg. “Now, let’s take a look at how your play is coming.”

Kurt watched Blaine’s face, the easy grace of his body while he read the pages Kurt had written since Tuesday. It wasn’t that he _wasn’t_ attracted to Blaine, after all. He was handsome by anyone’s standards, and his body certainly rivaled Noah’s for fitness and strength.

“You’re staring,” Blaine murmured, flipping a page. Kurt scowled at his pillow as Blaine grinned. “Well, this is very interesting. I am certainly going to look forward to reading more on Saturday.”

“Are you sure it’s not too slow?” He reached over and turned back a few pages. “What about this part, with the boy and his father? I think the pacing is off. Would you read it with me?”

“Kurt,” Blaine said, laughing, “can’t you just believe me that it’s good?”

“You didn’t even look at it. Come on, which part do you want to read?”

He sighed. “I’ll take the father, I guess? Show me where you want me to start…?”

As Blaine read all the words, it quickly became clear to Kurt that Blaine had no idea how to set up or develop creative tension in a scene. When they got to the end, Blaine seemed more excited by the story, but Kurt just felt—well, _dissatisfied_ by the whole experience.

“Thanks,” Kurt said anyway.

“You definitely should submit it for that contest when it’s done.” Blaine beamed. “I can’t wait to find out what’s going to happen next!”

Blaine chattered with Michael and Carole all the way through dinner about his experiences at Six Flags, but Kurt was too distracted to pay very close attention.

“What do you know about scriptwriting?” he asked Michael after dinner, while Blaine was helping with the dishes.

“Not much.” Michael shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

“I’m at a technical standstill and I don’t know who to ask.” At Michael’s look, he sighed. “Okay, I know who I _want_ to ask, but that’s not an option.”

“What about one of your friends from Usdan? Or, for that matter, why don’t you call Puck’s father?”

“Even if I had his phone number, I don’t think I’m quite at the social phone call stage of our relationship. Maybe Anthony; he was working on a play of his own.” He nodded at the basement door. “Do the two of you need some time alone?”

Michael looked inexplicably nervous, but he nodded. “Thanks, Kurt.”

Blaine took about twenty minutes to wrap up his conversation with Carole. He even hugged her before saying good night to Kurt.

“I really missed your parents,” he said. “Almost as much as I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Kurt said, even though he wasn’t really sure he had.

He wondered if he was going to have to duck another kiss from Blaine, but Blaine just climbed into his car and gave him a cheerful wave. It was almost disappointing. Kurt stared at the empty street for too long before heading inside.

While Finn and Michael were enjoying their quality time downstairs and his dad dozed in front of the television, Kurt picked up his phone and put it back down again about five times. He hadn’t reached the point of considering deleting Noah’s phone number from his contacts list. He certainly wasn’t going to accidentally-on-purpose dial him. Also, every time he looked at his list of recent outgoing calls, he saw Chris’s name and felt a twinge of guilt. He wished he hadn’t left the hospital so quickly.

Finally he sighed and texted a number he’d never called before. _This is Kurt. Is it so weird being back home for you, too?_

 _Weirder than anything,_ Asher replied immediately. Just seeing those words, hearing them in his head in Asher’s voice, flooded him with relief. _My sister and I went to see Inception, and she could only talk about how hot Leonardo DiCaprio was, and I just wanted to dissect the scene structure._

_I tried to get Blaine to read this scene with me and it was a freaking disaster. He had no idea what I was talking about. How am I ever going to enjoy theater again if all I can do is notice what’s wrong with the way people are doing it?_

_Maybe the enjoyment will come back. Focus on musicals? What’s your go-to comfort watching movie?_

_Funny Girl, usually._

_Mine is A Chorus Line. My dream role is Mike Costa._ After a pause, Asher added, _Have you heard from Puck at all?_

_Not since Saturday._

Kurt looked up as Carole put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m heading to bed. Can you wake up your dad and send him up before you go downstairs?”

“Sure, of course.”

She smiled. “It was so nice to see Blaine. He’s going to join us for Finn’s performance, right?”

Kurt only waited a moment before nodding. “I’m sure he’d love to. I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

Asher had typed, _I definitely got the feeling Blaine thinks the two of you are dating again._

 _He thinks we never stopped,_ said Kurt. _He thinks I just needed this summer to get Puck out of my system, and then I’d come running back to him as soon as he batted his pretty eyelashes at me._

_I’m sorry he won’t take no for an answer. That’s a shitty thing to do to anybody, no matter how charming he is._

_You know, I have never heard you swear before, Asher._

_You probably never will. I’m just grumpy because my sister ate all the Frosted Flakes. Not to mention I’ve been misgendered about fifty times since I returned tothis house._

_I hope that improves. Let me know if you get any comfort from Zack and Cassie._

_Will do. Stay in touch._

Now Asher’s name was at the top of his recently-called list. Somehow that made it easier to set his phone aside without texting either Noah or Chris. He didn’t text Blaine, either. Blaine certainly was charming, but whatever Kurt was looking for, it was becoming increasingly obvious that _charming_ wasn’t going to be enough.

 _And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, forgetting any other home but this,_ Romeo whispered. Kurt shivered and pulled the afghan around his shoulders.

He waited there in the glow of the television beside his sleeping dad until Michael and Finn emerged from the basement, speaking in quiet murmurs. After a long pause in the front hall, the door opened and closed, and Finn came into the family room.

“Hey,” he said. “Uh, you can come downstairs now. Sorry it’s so late.”

“You get to take as long as you want.”

Finn sighed. “It’s not like that. We just fell asleep.”

“I’m not the sex police, Finn.”

Kurt was aware he was being terrible, but he knew Finn would let him, and he also wouldn’t hold a grudge, so Kurt didn’t bother to apologize. He just led his sleepy dad to the stairs going up, pointed him in the right direction, and went downstairs.

Then he dug in the bottom drawer of his desk for Noah’s birthday Henley, the one Kurt had given him last summer. Kurt had stolen it from his room at Usdan six days ago, after desperately going through all of Noah’s clothes. He’d been relieved to discover _that_ hadn’t been the shirt Noah was wearing when he went to the city and found Chris.

_The one that had been so covered in blood he had to throw it away._

Kurt changed out of his clothes into his regular pajama bottoms, and put on the Henley. Then he climbed into bed and turned out the light, feeling like the biggest fool, and buried his nose in the shirt, inhaling the scent of Noah until he fell asleep.

* * *

Mrs. Wright approached Kurt in the lobby of the Encore, smiling broadly.

“I’m sorry Puck couldn’t come,” Kurt said. “His sister wanted to be here, too, but their mom said no.”

She nodded. “Things happen. But _you’re_ here. I would love to hear all about Usdan.”

“I’m guessing you’re a little busy tonight, but… maybe we can have coffee after the show is over?” He brought out a manilla envelope containing a copy of his script. “I will confess I have an ulterior motive. I’m in the middle of a project, and I could really use an editor.”

Her eyes gleamed as she tucked it under her arm. “You bet, Kurt. I’ll take a look at it next week and get back to you. Enjoy the show.”

He and Blaine weren’t sure if they would see anybody else they knew in the audience, but Lauren and Tina and Mike were there, and Kurt saw some of Michael’s friends from jazz band. Rachel wouldn’t be back from Oberlin for another week, and Mercedes was now at her church camp, but he was a little surprised not to see any of the Cheerios in the audience, considering Quinn was playing the lead.

“I get to see three shows in a week,” Blaine said. He took Kurt’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m getting spoiled. Do you suppose your school will do a musical this fall?”

“Maybe?” Kurt sniffed. “I’m not holding my breath. The politics of theater at McKinley are fraught.”

The set was painted in a monochromatic palette, but the lights were used to good effect to set the tone. Kurt could almost see the grass waving and the river rippling across the stage.

The first scene opened on Michael as George Seurat, painting Quinn, who was playing his lover and model Dot, on the bank of the river. Quinn’s character was immediately funny, with just the right amount of sass and conciliation, and her singing was crisp and perfectly on pitch:

_There are worse things  
_ _Than staring at the water  
_ _As you're posing for a picture  
_ _After sleeping on the ferry  
_ _After getting up at seven  
_ _To came over to an island  
_ _In the middle of a river  
_ _Half an hour from the city  
_ _On a Sunday in the park with—_

Everything was mutable, shifting from the Seine to George’s studio and back without much detail other than what was produced by the light. George’s intense inner focus and Dot’s wistful annoyance were in perfect counterpoint.

 _Color and light,_ sang George, gazing at his painting,

_There's only color and light.  
_ _Yellow and white.  
_ _Just blue and yellow and white.  
_ _Look at the air, miss—  
_ _See what I mean?  
_ _No, look over there, miss—  
_ _That's done with green...  
_ _Conjoined with orange..._

And then Dot, grumbling in song as she dressed to go out and watched him paint:

_Nothing seems to fit me right.  
_ _The less I wear, the more comfortable I feel. More rouge...  
_ _George is very special.  
_ _Maybe I'm just not special enough for him._

Blaine pointed and whispered, “Hey, look!” when the two shopgirls named Celeste entered together, whispering and giggling. It was Brittany and Santana.

“Look who’s over there!” Santana-Celeste said. “Dot is with Louis the baker.”

“How did Dot get to be with Louis?” Brittany-Celeste wondered.

Santana-Celeste snickered. “She knows how to make dough rise.”

George wore black; everyone else wore beiges and grays and pastel, until Finn’s character, the Boatman, came on.

“People all dressed up in their Sunday-best pretending?” The Boatman snorted contemptuously, swaggering in his boots and rough clothes. “Sunday is just another day. I wear what I always wear—then I don’t have to worry.” 

_Overprivileged woman  
_ _Complaining.  
_ _Silly little simpering  
_ _Shopgirls.  
_ _Condescending artists,  
_ _"Observing;"  
_ _"Perceiving"...  
_ _Well, screw them!_

Dot did her best to impress George, even through his frustrating inattention. She practiced learning to read and write in her composition book, but he continued to ignore her in favor of his work.

George’s friend Jules, a more accomplished artist, played by Scott from jazz band, was perplexed by George’s singular focus on such a weird way of painting.

“People are talking about your work,” Jules warned him. “Always changing! Why keep changing?”

George regarded him steadily. “Because I do not paint for your approval.”

It put a lump in Kurt’s throat he did not expect. He’d seen the recording of the show more than once, but—

 _But it’s the audience that brings it to life,_ Bryce reminded him in his head. _It’s the interaction between the art and the perceiver that makes it theater._

He was even more startled to discover George explaining as much to Jules in a later scene. George pointed at his painting. “What is the dominant color? The flower on the hat?”

“Violet,” said Jules.

George brought him closer to the canvas and pointed. “See? Red, and blue. Your eye made the violet. Your eye is perceiving both red and blue _and_ violet. Only eleven colors—no black—divided, not mixed on the palette, mixed by the eye.” He was more excited now than they had ever seen him. “Can’t you see the shimmering? Science, Jules. Fixed laws for color, like music.”

 _Like music._ Kurt sniffed, digging in his pocket for his handkerchief. Blaine put a hand on his shoulder, and Kurt leaned in a little, appreciating Blaine’s warmth, but he could not look away from the performance.

Dot explained in song why she chose to leave George and go with Louis the baker instead, even though he was clearly not ideal. It hit a little too close to home for Kurt. Luckily Blaine appeared to be oblivious:

_Everybody loves Louis,  
_ _Him as well as his cakes.  
_ _Everybody loves Louis,  
_ _Me included, George.  
_

_Not afraid to be gooey,  
_ _Louis sells what he makes.  
_ _Everybody gets along with him.  
_ _That's the trouble… nothing's wrong with him._

Before the end of the first act, Dot came back to George, now visibly pregnant, to let him know she was leaving France for America. Her indignant desperation was so familiar.

“You care about nothing,” Dot accused him.

“I care about many things. People too. I cannot divide my feelings up as neatly as you.” George pointed his brush at the painting. “And I am not hiding behind my canvas—I am living in it. _You_ will be in this painting.”

 _Tell me what you feel,_ Dot demanded.

 _What I feel?_ George sang back to her.

_You know exactly how I feel.  
_ _Why do you insist  
_ _You must hear the words,  
_ _When you know I cannot give you words?  
_ _Not the ones you need.  
_ _There’s nothing to say.  
_ _I cannot be what you want._

After she left, George’s senile mother, the old lady in the painting, approached him. She was played by an underclassman named Kitty whom Kurt didn’t know, but she had a great voice and a solid stage presence. She spoke wistfully of the past:

_I see towers  
_ _Where there were trees,  
_ _Going,  
_ _All the stillness…_

_Sundays  
_ _Disappearing  
_ _All the time  
_ _When things were beautiful…_

George shook his head and sang back,

_Pretty isn’t beautiful, Mother,  
_ _Pretty is what changes.  
_ _What the eye arranges  
_ _Is what is beautiful._

“You make it beautiful,” his mother told him fondly. “Quick, draw it all, Georgie!”

All of the characters showed their individual colors in the chaos of conflict before the end of the first act, until George rearranged them into the finished painting. The figures of the chorus spun, stopped, expanded, contracted in patterns echoing the dappled jewel tones of the light—then stopped, spun, expanded and contracted again as they coalesced into composition. _Order… design… tension… balance… harmony._

“Wow, they’re so good,” Blaine effused as the house lights came up at intermission. “And there’s a whole second act set in the future, right?”

“This is when it gets weird,” said Kurt. “But it really does hang together.”

Blaine laughed. “It doesn’t have to be everybody’s cup of tea. Just because _I_ love Sondheim.”

Kurt tried not to bristle at the implication: _Just because Puck doesn’t._ He wanted to defend him, but after all, the whole point was that he wasn’t there to defend himself. He gazed around the packed auditorium and sighed.

The second act began with a humorous scene. The characters in Seurat’s famous painting, still in their poses, were all whining about having to stand there for decades while it was so hot.

 _Why are they complaining?_ said the Boatman; 

_It could have been raining._

The transition to current day was immediate. Michael was playing George, a contemporary painter and descendent of George Seurat.He introduced his grandmother, Marie, Dot’s daughter, now in her nineties, and together they presented his “chromolume" light sculpture exhibition in celebration of the painting _A Sunday on La Grande Jatte_.

On the screen behind the scrim, a pattern of laser light traced the outlines of Seurat’s painting to synthesizer music, while figures in glowing costumes walked the same patterns they had danced at the end of act one. Points of light in bright colors shrank into patterns that became figures. Gradually, on a canvas as large as the curtain, the impression of the painting took shape. Kurt wondered who had done the computer programming to make that happen.

Following the exhibition, George and his grandmother attended a cocktail party. Just as they had in the first act, commenters and potential patrons criticized George’s work, while in rapid patter George addressed the need to raise money in order to keep his art alive:

_Advancing art is easy  
_ _Financing it is not.  
_ _A vision's just a vision  
_ _If it's only in your head.  
_ _If no one gets to see it,  
_ _It's as good as dead.  
_ _It has to come to light!_

His grandmother Marie—Kurt could barely believe it was Quinn in all that makeup—sang to George, and to the painting, with gentle reminiscence about her mother and “the two things one should leave behind when we go: children and art.”

That was the last of Marie, and after she passed away, George went with his crew to France to put on his next exhibition. Michael sat in the middle of the stage and sang sadly to himself of being lost, without inspiration:

_George looks within.  
_ _George is adrift.  
_ _George goes by guessing.  
_ _George looks behind.  
_ _He had a gift.  
_ _When did it fade?_

His great-grandmother Dot returned in a vision to help him make sense of the red composition book she’d written, and of the world. Kurt watched, with full-on tears running down his face now, as Quinn sang the words Noah had sung to him before they went to Usdan:

_Stop worrying where you're going—  
_ _Move on.  
_ _If you can know where you're going,  
_ _You've gone.  
_ _Just keep moving on._

_I chose, and my world was shaken—  
_ _So what?  
_ _The choice may have been mistaken,  
_ _The choosing was not.  
_ _You have to move on._

The show ended on a blank white canvas, the light, and a hopeful chord: _so many possibilities._

Kurt pressed his soaked handkerchief to his eyes once more, but it was a futile gesture. Blaine smiled as he applauded, cheering for Michael and Quinn and the whole cast as they came to the stage for their curtain call. Mrs. Wright came out to stand beside them, and Quinn brought her a bouquet of flowers and gave her a hug.

They all moved to the lobby to meet the cast as they came out to pose in costume for pictures with their families. While Blaine rushed over to congratulate Quinn, Kurt went to find Santana.

“The two of you were amazing!” he said. “I had no idea you had even auditioned.”

“Yeah, well… after last year’s _Rocky Horror_ debacle, I decided I wasn’t going to miss being in another musical.” Santana gestured at Quinn, who was beaming at Blaine. “She talked us into it.”

“Wasn’t it great, though?”

She nodded, without a trace of irony. “It really was. I had a blast. But now I think we _have_ to convince Mr. Schue to do a musical.”

He offered a high-five, and she accepted it. “I’m in.”

Finn swept him up into a great big hug that left Kurt laughing. “That was _amazing,”_ Kurt told him. “And you were great.”

“It was enough for now,” Finn said. “Maybe the next time we do a show, I’ll have the courage to try out for something bigger. Seriously, the best part of all of this was getting to watch Michael do his thing every day.”

Kurt grinned. “His singing was beautiful. And he’s a much better actor than he used to be. It was Quinn who blew me away. She was so funny, so expressive.”

“Yeah.” Finn gave him a lopsided smile. “Some people have a way of letting more of themselves show on the stage than they do in real life.”

“Who said the stage isn’t just an extension of real life?” Michael walked up to stand beside Finn. He slid an arm around his waist, like it was nothing, and Finn relaxed against him with a contented expression. “What did you think, Kurt? Not bad for community theater, huh?”

“It was inspirational,” Kurt decided. “Because life can’t be arranged like a painting. It doesn’t wait for the eye to see its value. It’s dynamic.” He glanced at Michael, then back at Finn. “… Which means it’s only here for a short time.”

“I know what it means,” he said, frowning, while Michael smirked.

“And in addition, it was technically impressive. You know, it struck me how James Lapine’s music is like Seurat’s art. He uses notes like pointillism, coming together to make colorful phrases. And Sondheim’s lyrics, they’re humorous, whimsical, even sentimental. It’s an alluring combination, but not always accessible.”

“Dude.” Finn made a face. “You’re making it sound so boring. Can’t you just enjoy it? You don’t have to take it apart like that.”

“Yes, he does,” said Michael. Now he was smiling. “Kurt lives for his work, too.”

Kurt dwelled on Michael’s statement as they returned to the car. It made him feel anxious.

“Dot and George,” he mused. “They were… really different people.”

Carole nodded in the front. “Do you think the song Quinn sang was right? Did they belong together or didn’t they?”

“Not in the first act,” said Michael. “George Seurat was an original. He was compelled to focus on his art, while Dot needed somebody who wanted to be with her, like Louis. Not somebody who was obsessed with one thing.”

“Like in RENT,” Blaine said.

Kurt turned to him. “What?”

“That’s what Mark and Roger fight about in the second act.” He sang, as Blaine always did, totally unselfconsciously:

_Mark hides in his work  
_ _From facing your failure  
_ _Facing your loneliness  
_ _Facing the fact you live a lie  
_ _Yes, you live a lie, tell you why  
_ _You're always preaching not to be numb  
_ _When that's how you thrive  
_ _You pretend to create and observe  
_ _When you really detach from feeling alive…_

“Poor baby,” Kurt murmured, wincing. He’d been thinking of himself as Dot in this situation, but maybe he was as much George as Noah was.

 _Or maybe they’re just characters, and you’re not like any of them,_ he reminded himself.

After bringing Michael and Finn home so they could clean up before the cast party, Blaine turned to Kurt.

“My long-standing tradition of going out for ice cream after every performance is beckoning me,” he said. “Can I treat you?”

Kurt regarded Blaine dubiously. Then he took him by both shoulders and looked him in the eye.

“Can you honestly tell me this is neither a date, nor an attempt to convince me to date you again?”

Blaine actually looked hurt. “Kurt, are we going to go through this again every time I try to make plans with you?”

“Only if you’re going to keep kissing me and giving me little snuggles every chance you get.”

“Can’t I just be a snuggly friend?” Blaine sighed when Kurt rolled his eyes, tugging on his arm. “Okay, I get your reticence. I do! But all I can say is you’re going to have to let me prove it to you. I’m not going to stop being who I am just because you’re afraid I’m being manipulative. You say we’re only friends, I’m listening.”

“Yeah, well, nobody else believes you either.” He let Blaine lead him down the steps to the sidewalk toward his car. “Asher called you on it right away.”

“Well, I hope you stood up for me. Wasn’t I the one who convinced you to take a break and think it through instead of making a rash decision after prom?” Blaine raised an eyebrow. “Tell me why that was a bad idea.”

“Because you didn’t listen to me when I told you how I felt.” He climbed into the car beside Blaine, watching his placid face with mounting irritation. “You didn’t trust that I would know my own mind.”

“Kurt, that’s just not true.” He leaned on the steering wheel. “Look, I’m not trying to gaslight you here. I’m just saying, no matter what I think about whether or not we belong together, I am willing to accept your choice.”

“Eventually? Or right now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, right now, can you say you still want to be friends with me if I am no longer and never will be your boyfriend?”

He watched Blaine’s smile fade into uncertainty. Kurt sighed and opened the door, removing his seatbelt.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Kurt—wait.” He grabbed Kurt’s wrist, then chewed on his lip as he gathered his thoughts. “Okay, maybe that wasn’t… one hundred percent what I was hoping to hear. But I don’t want to stop spending time with you just because—”

“Just because what? Because you refuse to accept I’ve friendzoned you and you’re still waiting for me to change my mind? Because you keep trying to flirt with me in an effort to show me what a bad decision I made?” Kurt shook his head. “I do love you, Blaine, but I don’t trust you. I want to be your friend, but I want you to stop hoping that _someday_ or _eventually_ or _if you get me drunk enough,_ things will be different. Okay?”

Blaine’s face was closed and hurt, but he nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Kurt said again. He took a long breath. “Now we can get ice cream, assuming you still want to.”

They went to Pete’s and sat under the umbrella table with their hot fudge. Kurt decided it was a little too soon to make a joke about having a _sundae in the park,_ but Blaine surprised him by giving him a little smile.

“So I’m assuming things with Puck still aren’t going anywhere?”

“They just stopped,” Kurt said. “That probably should tell me something. He stopped calling, which is what I figured he would do. I’m trying to accept it, but it’s hard without hearing any feedback at all.”

“You’re not going to try to figure it out?”

 _Maybe. No. Yes._ He shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Blaine nodded, toying with his ice cream. “I was just wondering… how would you react if Puck told you what you just told me?”

“That I never have a chance with him?” He smiled bitterly. “Blaine, he’s been telling me that since day one.”

“So how is that different from what you’re telling me _not_ to do with you?”

Kurt stared at the concrete table. “Some days I honestly don’t know. But he asked me not to give up on him, even though most days he’s barely been able to acknowledge me in public. He’s ashamed and terrified and angry.”

“See, this is the part where I have a hard time not giving you advice.” He looked up at Kurt with a nervous laugh. “Which—I am not going to do. See, this is me, not telling you he’s bad for you.”

_“Blaine…”_

“At least after this summer, I’m going to be sure you didn’t just hook up with Puck because he was hot. Not if you had a chance with Asher.”He made a fanning motion. “Whoo.”

Blaine continued to make offensively attentive comments, but Kurt decided to stop commenting on them and just appreciate that Blaine was trying his best. He didn’t offer to hug Kurt goodbye, which was something.

“How about we take a few days without calling one another?” Kurt suggested. “And let me be first. Then you can be sure when I do, I’ll feel ready.”

There was no mistaking that Blaine looked heartbroken. He simply nodded and waited for Kurt to get out of the car, then drove away. This time, watching him go felt a lot less confusing. 

Kurt’s dad was still awake when he went back inside, sorting through papers at the table. He gave Kurt a tight smile. “Blaine heading home?”

“Yes. I should probably tell you, just so you’re clear, I just broke up with Blaine. We’re never going to be more than friends.”

His dad set down the stack of papers and nodded. “I seem to remember you guys going through this before?”

“It wasn’t final then, but now it is.”

“You doing okay?”

He nodded back. “I feel… relieved.”

“So do I.”

Kurt sank into a chair across from him. “I always thought you liked Blaine.”

“Oh, I do. That’s not the same as saying you should date somebody you’re not in love with. You notice I waited a heck of a long time to date anybody again? I wasn’t going to settle for just anybody. Carole, she was it for me.” His dad raised an eyebrow. “But I’m not saying you have to know who that might be at eighteen. You’ve got time.”

He nodded. “I do. I think I’m still not quite ready to… to move on, but… yeah. I should take some time to figure it out.”

Kurt took a long shower, taking advantage of his time alone in their room before Finn got home, and put on the 1984 soundtrack of _Sunday in the Park with George_ while he moisturized. He was singing loud enough that he almost missed his phone’s ringtone over the music.

Then he nearly dropped the phone again when he saw the name on the display: _Chris Janssen._ With shaking hands, he accepted the call.

“Hello?” he demanded. “Who is this?”

_“It’s me, Kurt.”_

It was undeniably Chris. Kurt laughed in relief. “I thought—maybe it would be somebody else. It’s so good to hear your voice. Are you okay?”

 _“No, I’m not.”_ Kurt could hear him crying. The fear washed back over him, intense enough to make him feel sick. _“I couldn’t get through to Puck, and I figured, if he didn’t already know, he should hear it from a person, not in a message.”_

He gripped the edge of his chair. “What—what is it?”

 _“It’s Bryce. He didn’t tell anybody how sick he was.”_ Chris’s words were almost unintelligible now. _“Metastatic lung cancer. He went into hospice last night. I just found out. Kurt, he died this afternoon.”_


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do appreciate the "Oh thank god it wasn't Chris" response. =) -amy

Chris had a lot of other people to call, but he texted Kurt back early the next morning. _I’m still in the hospital._

 _At least you’re talking now,_ said Kurt. _The last time I saw you, you had a breathing tube in your mouth._

_I’m sure as hell making up for that week of not talking now. I think I used up my monthly data limits around three am. I’ve texted or called everybody I had numbers for and everybody else I could find. Do you have Puck’s roommate’s number? What was his name? Layton?_

Kurt gritted his teeth. _Chris, are you serious? You’re really not going to tell me what the hell happened to you?_

_What do you mean?_

_I mean after you disappeared, all we heard was “he’s in the hospital.” That was it. You’ve got to give me more than that._

There was a long silence after that. Kurt managed to creep into the bathroom without bothering Finn, brush his teeth, shower, and make a reasonable start at styling his hair before Chris responded.

_Okay, I just talked to three different people and got three different answers about what they think happened, and none of them were close to the truth. What the hell kind of gossip mill does Usdan have without me, anyway?_

_Puck didn’t tell anybody,_ Kurt replied. _I’m pretty sure the police and parents and the camp director all threatened him with all kinds of consequences, but he said he promised you he wouldn’t say anything._

 _Holy. Shit._ Then, after several moments: _I think if you can put up with the random crying, it would be easier to say this out loud than to try to write it down._

Kurt went upstairs, slipped through the front door, and sat on the top step of the porch before calling Chris. He picked up right away.

“I am really sorry about Bryce,” Kurt said.

 _“Fuck, Kurt, don’t lead with that.”_ He sounded hoarse and exhausted, but Kurt could hear him smiling, and Kurt smiled back, feeling his own tears coming.

“It’s really, really good to hear your voice. I was so scared. We all were, that whole week.”

 _“Is that right? Well, I got zero flowers from anybody! Never mind flowers aren’t allowed on this floor. Not feeling the love.”_ His disdain was epic.

“I didn’t make it to the hospital until the Sunday after you were admitted, and even by then you really didn’t look very good.” Kurt didn’t say anything about Noah’s presence in his room. “How much do you remember?”

 _“Everything before, I think. I mean, if I don’t remember it, I wouldn’t know, right?”_ Chris snorted. _“Might be better if I didn’t. God, I was so stupid.”_

“Can you just tell me—?”

 _“Would you believe it was a hookup? I used the M4M personals on Craigslist. There was a guy who seemed promising, we made plans… no strings, just what I wanted, you know?”_ He groaned. _“God… maybe this isn’t better. So I got to the address in Queens, and it wasn’t one guy with no strings, it was three with—well, I still don’t know what they were, but they were heavy and they hurt. They hit me until I stopped moving.”_

“Oh, god.” Kurt cringed. He had known to expect something like that, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear.

_“Luckily they knocked me out before I could feel the rest of it. They left me in Central Park. I woke up hours later, puking from the concussion, barely able to breathe, and I texted Puck. He came to get me but refused to move me. Before I would let him call the ambulance, I told him he wasn’t allowed to tell anybody what happened.”_

“And he never did,” Kurt said. He sniffed, carefully wiping his eyes. “Or at least he didn’t tell me.”

_“Yeah, which means he didn’t tell anybody else. Shit. So of the three people I just talked to, two of them said they thought Puck had something to do with it. I guess that would explain why he’s not taking my calls.”_

“He’s not taking mine either. His sister told me he’s staying with his dad. I haven’t talked to him since the show.” Kurt held his breath. “Chris, the show—”

 _“Yeah, I heard about Puck taking over Romeo. I am mad as hell I didn’t get to do it myself, but he was totally my second choice.”_ He sighed. _“Someday I’d love to see the recording, but… I would have called Bryce to get it. And now I have no idea who to ask.”_

Kurt swallowed. “You really think _nobody_ knew he was sick?”

 _“I think if they had, they wouldn’t have let him—”_ Chris uttered a muffled curse, and Kurt sat with him while he cried.

“How are you doing now?” he asked hesitantly. “Physically, I mean? And what about the men who—attacked you?”

_“I haven’t decided about that yet. I’m still a mess, but I’m breathing on my own now, and my surgeon says I’m going to recover. They didn’t break any bones in my legs, so I should still be able to dance. Not that I have any idea how I’m going to pay for this hospital stay. Or even what I’m going to do next year, now.”_

“Oh.” Kurt’s mind raced. “You mean… Bryce was going to set up an internship for you after camp.”

_“Me, Ian, Puck, and Bethany. It was all in process, but at the moment, we don’t even know who to talk to. It was all dependent on him. God… I really fucked up. I don’t have anywhere to go.”_

“Your parents—”

 _“My parents kicked me out after high school, Kurt.”_ Chris sounded exhausted. _“Not an option.”_

He breathed through the shock. “You never told me that.”

_“Look, I really… I have to take this one day at a time. Can you please find Puck and let him know about Bryce? Ms. Paige is helping me figure out a memorial service and—and burial plans, so I’ll let you know about that.”_

“You’re going to call me every day,” Kurt said. “Okay? Every day. And I will find Puck. His father worked with Bryce, too. I’ll call him. And—” He sat there, feeling helpless. “I can’t think of what else to say, but you’re not alone.”

_“Thanks, Kurt. Right now I don’t think I can do anything except make phone calls and sleep and cry.”_

“Then you’ll do that. And you’ll call me tomorrow.”

 _“I’ll call you tomorrow,”_ Chris agreed.

No one else in the house was awake yet, but Kurt didn’t feel like he could be alone with his feelings. He sent Asher a text. _When you’re done with your morning yoga, let me know._

He paced the kitchen while the coffee brewed, wondered how he was going to get in touch with Noah if he wasn’t going to bother to call back. Maybe he could leave a message for Aaron at the Dayton Opera House.

Then he remembered Mrs. Wright also knew Bryce. He went to the cork board by the stove in the kitchen and found the notice listing Finn’s _Sunday in the Park_ rehearsals, with her phone number at the bottom.

While he was trying to decide if it was too early to call, he got a reply from Asher. _Did you hear?_

_About Bryce? Yes. Chris called me._

Kurt leaned on the counter, feeling the familiar, terrible pressure of grief in his chest, accompanied by all of the other accompanying feelings of guilt and fear and despair.

 _It’s so sad,_ Asher said. _Are you doing okay?_

_I think so. I mean, I’ve done this before, when my mom died, and it’s not exactly fun, but I know what to expect. I feel so bad for Chris, though. He’s dealing with everything by himself, still in the hospital, no family._

_Anthony’s right there in the city,_ Asher said. _I don’t doubt he’ll be there for Chris. Lots of campers were from New York, too. Bethany, Oliver._

That actually did make him feel better. _Right now I’m trying to figure out a way to reach Puck. He’s not responding to anybody._

_I’m not sure I know any better way than you do, but the counselors at Dalton are really great. I bet they would help if you gave them a call._

_Oh!_ Kurt smiled. _Our school counselor is great, too. I hadn’t thought about calling her. I’m going to start with the director of our summer youth theater. She knows Bryce, too. Knew._ His smile faded, and he sighed. _Thanks._

“Kurt?” His dad stood in the doorway to the kitchen, blinking, still in his robe. “It’s not even six. What’s going on?”

“Bryce. My director at Usdan.” It was impossible to say it aloud for the first time without crying. “He died yesterday.”

His dad hugged him without comment for a long time. Kurt knew he’d had too much experience hearing _I’m sorry for your loss_ to ever say anything like that.

“Is there anything you want to do right now?” his dad asked.

“I’m on a mission,” Kurt said. “To find Puck. Other than that, I’m waiting to hear from Chris about the memorial. If there’s any way I can attend that, I would really like to.”

“We’ll see what we can do about both of those things.” His dad squeezed his shoulder. “How about first we start with breakfast?”

* * *

Mrs. Wright smiled and opened her front door. “Come on in, Kurt. You look magnificent today.”

He straightened the collar on his shirt. “If I am occasionally a little over-dressed, I make up for it by being always immensely over-educated.”

She laughed. “That’s from _Earnest,_ isn’t it? How lucky you were to study that show with Bryce. Not to mention working with him on _Romeo & Juliet.” _She invited him to follow her into the kitchen. Kurt saw his script sitting on the counter, covered with sticky notes and neat red pen. “I was so sorry to hear about his passing. Can I get you something to drink?”

Kurt accepted a glass of iced tea. “Not that I have a basis for comparison, but I know he was well-regarded in the theater community. Our show even got reviewed by several local magazines. I’m grateful for the opportunity to work with him.”

“I am sure it was entirely mutual. Bryce Coleman had no lack of creativity and talent in his professional life, but he was never happier than when he was directing young artists.”

“I think that got him into trouble,” Kurt said, remembering the comments he’d heard about _child endangerment_. “People were saying he shouldn’t be having us performing shows like those, or at least not given his directorial choices.”

Mrs. Wright frowned. “Certainly he was edgy, but it was never so over-the-top that he lacked for students.” Her face turned thoughtful. “I have to wonder, now, if he took more and bigger risks each summer because he knew he was dying.”

“You know, I would totally believe that.” Kurt smiled when she laughed again. “So, my friend Chris is putting together a memorial, and I’ll let you know when I find out more about that, but… Mrs. Wright, I’m trying to get in touch with Puck. I haven’t seen him since camp, and he’s not answering my calls. I’d really rather he not learn about Bryce’s death from some anonymous source.”

“Oh, well.” Mrs. Wright hesitated. “He told me not to tell you, but… Kurt, he was at the Saturday performance of _Sunday in the Park.”_

Kurt blinked. “I see.”

“He didn’t want to miss it, but he also didn’t want you to know he was there. I wish I knew more about why, but that was all he said.”

“No, it’s… I know how Puck is.” Kurt looked at the floor, trying to squash his bitter disappointment. “I suppose that means you know where he is, but you can’t tell me?”

“I don’t know that either, I’m afraid.” She walked over to sit beside him and picked up the script. “At least I _can_ give you what you asked for at the performance. I read your play. It’s good, Kurt.”

He couldn’t help smile. “I can see you have some comments for me.”

“Ask an English teacher,” she agreed, “you’re going to get comments. They are mostly stylistic considerations, though I did include ideas about developing your inciting incident.” She handed it back to him. “Do you have plans to submit it anywhere in particular?”

“My friend Anthony told me about NYADA’s Young Playwright contest? I haven’t finished my college application, but the contest deadline for this fall is coming up, and I thought…” He shrugged. “If they accept it, maybe it would give me an edge in the application process.”

“Well, then, I suggest you make any edits you deem acceptable, then submit it. It’s certainly good enough to merit a second look.” She gave him a fond smile. “We did miss you this summer, Kurt, but I wanted to tell you, it was wonderful to work with your stepbrother. Finn has an impressive vocal range, and he developed quite a bit as an actor this summer. Will you encourage him to apply to NYADA as well?”

“I—yes!” Kurt felt a thrill of pride. “I absolutely will. I know he had a wonderful time doing _Sunday in the Park_ with you. I’m so glad he decided to audition.” He took a deep breath. “We are both grateful for all the opportunities you opened up for us. I mean, at school as well as in theater, but especially that.”

“Like Franz said in Act One…” In a melodic alto Kurt had never heard, Mrs. Wright sang, _“Work is what you do for other people, art is what you do for yourself._ I love teaching, but directing is what sustains me.” She cocked her head. “You know, I am somewhat surprised Aaron Puckerman never chose that route, particularly after his stroke. Do you plan to talk with him about Bryce’s passing?”

“If I can reach him, yes. He’s always been very kind to me.”

“Well, perhaps you might start by speaking with Puck’s mother. She also knew Bryce, and I know she is still here in town.”

That did not seem likely to be a fruitful encounter, given the last several interactions he’d had with Mrs. Puckerman, but Kurt had to admit driving across town to see if he could make contact would be a more reasonable next step than going to Dayton. He called the Puckerman house, and Sarah picked up.

“It’s Kurt,” he said. “I know you’re not supposed to talk to me, but I’m really calling to talk to your mom. Is she home?”

_“Not yet. But she was on third shift last night, so she’ll be going grocery shopping after work. I can tell you where and when she shops, if you want to find her there.”_

He grinned. “Sneaky. I don’t suppose Noah is back…?”

 _“He already got mad at me for telling you he was at Dad’s the last time.”_ She sounded legitimately sorry. _“I don’t even know where he is now.”_

“I have some bad news to give him, and I was really hoping to tell him in person, but it doesn’t sound like he’s going to let me do that. If you do see him, would you please tell him to call Chris?”

_“Okay? What’s the bad news?”_

“I’m going to let your mom tell you. One more request: can I get your dad’s phone number?”

She read it to him one digit at a time while he wrote it on the back of the _Sunday in the Park_ brochure he found on the floor of the Navigator. While he made his way across town to the Sav-A-Lot where Mrs. Puckerman shopped, he called the number. It went to a generic voicemail, so he just said who he was and asked Aaron to call him back.

There was a tiny Starbucks in the grocery store, so Kurt sat there waiting and watching the door.

 _I’m going to ambush Puck’s mother while she’s shopping,_ he texted Chris.

 _Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?_ Chris replied.

Kurt giggled. _That’s all I got, Romeo._

_What was it like to play Juliet opposite your boyfriend?_

_He’s not my boyfriend. And it was amazing, but I still wish you’d had a chance to play Romeo. Puck said the same thing._

_Yeah, I think I believe you. Someday, when I’m famous and playing the role opposite a woman, I’ll send his broken-down ass an invitation to the premiere. And one to my parents, for good measure._

Kurt suddenly remembered something. _Your parents were at Usdan. They talked to Bryce about Puck, after you were hurt._

 _It was a beating, Kurt. I was beaten._ There was a pause. _Are you sure it was them?_

_Yes, I saw them myself. They weren’t happy with Puck, but Bryce defended him. Said you were an adult, and he didn’t have to say anything. I didn’t know what he was talking about then, but now I understand._

Chris didn’t respond. When he saw Noah’s mother walk in, pushing an empty cart, he stood up, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Mrs. Puckerman?”

She turned, but when she saw who it was, she rolled her eyes and sighed in annoyance. “What do you want? Noah said he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“No, it’s not—I mean, it is about that, but not for what you think. I have to tell you what happened. To Bryce Coleman.”

Noah’s mother stopped moving. She looked at him, her face unreadable. “What happened?”

He took a deep breath. “I’m really sorry to be the one to tell you. He died, yesterday. He had lung cancer.”

She walked slowly to the chair Kurt had just vacated in Starbucks. Kurt followed her over, abandoning the empty cart, and sat down beside her.

“He directed _Romeo & Juliet _and _The Importance of Being Earnest_ this summer. Last week, I mean. He—Noah, he ended up playing the lead in both of them when Chris couldn’t perform.”

“I know.” Mrs. Puckerman kept her eyes on the table. “Aaron called me. I couldn’t take the time off, but Sarah wanted to go, so I let her.”

“Yes, I saw her there with Aaron and Felix.”

She nodded, unsurprised. “He didn’t say anything about Bryce being sick. God.”

“Bryce didn’t tell anybody.” Kurt watched her anxiously. “I wanted to tell Noah myself, but he won’t take my calls.”

“No.” She tightened the corners of her mouth and glanced up at him. “He’s getting his act together. He needs to focus. No distractions.”

He sat back. “Does that mean you’re not going to tell him about Bryce?”

“No.” Now she looked uncertain. “I don’t know. I have to finish the grocery shopping.” But she didn’t stand up.

“I didn’t tell Sarah either. You’ll have to do that. And I haven’t been able to reach Aaron or Felix, so—”

“Kurt.” She let out a frustrated sigh. “You’d better come home with me and tell Sarah yourself. Because I honestly don’t know if I can do this.”

He rose to his feet, and she followed suit. “If—you wouldn’t mind? I don’t want to cause any problems.”

“You’re not causing any problems. Noah’s doing just fine doing that all on his own.” She gave him a head-to-toe once-over. “Whatever happened between you and Noah, I don’t know details, but I’m thinking it wasn’t your fault.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. When she beckoned him to follow her, he went, silently walking beside her as she filled the cart with fresh fruit, pasta, canned tomatoes, bags of shredded cheese, tortillas. They were not the sort of things he would have found in her fridge a year ago, but Kurt decided it would be impolite to point this out.

They reached the checkout line, and he helped her unload the contents of the cart onto the conveyer belt. As he reached for the bag of apples, she put a hand on his, and he looked up, startled.

“How was he?” she asked urgently. “Noah, in _Romeo & Juliet?”_

Kurt stared into her eyes, green with flecks of brown, exactly like Noah’s. “He was phenomenal.”

She nodded, returning to silence as she paid for the groceries. Kurt loaded them into the cart, and he went with her to help her put them into her car.

“He used Bryce’s old script to prepare for _Earnest,”_ he told her. “Noah told me it was Aaron’s. But I looked through it. There were notes for two parts. One was Jack Worthing. The other was Cecily.”

Mrs. Puckerman blinked rapidly, but did not respond.

“Did… _you_ play Cecily?”

She shook her head. “It was Tanisha.”

“Who—?”

“Just come to the house. I have to get these in the fridge.”

He followed her in the Navigator, parking on the street while she pulled into the driveway. The yard was much tidier than it had been, and while the house remained two colors, as though it had been half-painted and someone had stopped in the middle, it appeared that someone had repaired the roof.

Sarah came out when her mom gave two short beeps with the horn, but she stopped when she saw Kurt. She looked at her mother in confusion.

“I invited him over,” Mrs. Puckerman told Sarah. “Show him where the groceries go. I have to make a phone call.”

They each took two bags and Kurt followed Sarah around to the side of the house, holding the screen door for her. He was astonished by the state of the interior. Not only were the walls and floor clean, the previously ubiquitous clutter was almost entirely gone. There were still boxes piled in some spots along the hallway, but they were tucked neatly away, and there was no sign of the dusty piles of old mail or dirty dishes.

Kurt set the bags of groceries on the counter and passed each item to Sarah. She clutched the jug of milk with both hands.

“What’s going on?”

“Bryce Coleman died yesterday,” he said. “When I told your mom, she invited me back here. Apparently there’s stuff I need to know.”

“Oh, jeez.” Sarah’s eyes were big. When her mother came into the kitchen, she went to hug her, and her mom let her. Kurt put away the rest of the groceries.

Mrs. Puckerman wiped her eyes, wearing an angry expression Kurt recognized. _Noah gets like that,_ he thought. _Too many feelings._

“Come into the music room,” she said.

He followed the two of them to the bedroom across from Noah and Sarah’s. The last time he’d been in there, all the instruments were in cases, and most of the room was full of boxes and furniture, but now there was a wide space cleared in the center, with a couch on one end. The television that had been in Noah and Sarah’s room was on the other. There was a bass guitar on the couch, and the keyboard had a book of Bon Jovi music propped open to “Livin’ on a Prayer.”

Kurt touched the keyboard. When he saw Noah’s mother watching him, he said the first thing that came to his mind: “It’s Noah’s favorite song.”

She let out a laugh. “Really?”

“That’s what he said. I mean—his favorite love song. When I made him pick, he said his favorite song was Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On.”

“Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He grew up listening to me and my band playing it.” She sounded rueful. “Nice counterpoint to his dad reading him plays every night. You ever heard Noah play piano? He had lessons starting when he was six.”

“Uh—no.” Kurt glanced at Sarah, who had picked up the bass and was playing some reasonably complex chord changes. “Just the guitar, I think. He did write me a song.”

“It was good,” Sarah said, when her mom stared at him. “I remember. When your dad was sick.”

“Your dad was sick?” Mrs. Puckerman echoed.

“He had a heart attack last year,” Kurt said. “He’s better now.”

She nodded, looking unhappy. “Sounds like I’ve missed a lot.”

She went to the television and turned it on. Then she opened a cabinet along the wall beside the TV, sorting through old VHS cassettes until she found the one she wanted. Sarah and Kurt both sat on the couch.

“I don’t know how much longer these tapes are going to play,” she said, like a warning. Kurt just nodded.

“What are we watching?”

“This was Bryce’s production company, on Long Island. It’s not far from Usdan, but he didn’t work for them until after he stopped performing.”

Kurt watched the grainy video with fascination, centered on the red velvet curtain. _The Importance of Being Earnest,_ the credits read, _directed by Bryce Coleman._ Aaron Puckerman was listed as playing Jack, and Tanisha Roth as Cecily, but he also spotted the name Felix Abrams, playing the butler Merriman.

“Felix,” Kurt said.

“Felix,” she repeated softly. “Yeah.”

She fast-forwarded through to the second act, in which all three characters performed. Aaron was not precisely the spitting image of Noah, but they did look a lot alike, and Kurt could see in his mannerisms so many of Noah’s, it made him a little faint. Felix looked remarkably the same, tall with pale skin and thick black hair. Tanisha’s skin was dark, her hair artfully gathered into a period style.

“She’s good,” said Sarah, watching with interest.

“She really is,” agreed her mother. “She quit doing theater after her son was born. His name is Jacob.” She turned to Sarah, resting a hand on her skinny knee. “Your half-brother, Jake.”

Sarah squinted at the fuzzy analog picture. “That’s Jake’s mom?”

“Noah said…” Kurt began, then stopped, uncertain if he should say anything about Aaron’s affair in front of Sarah. But Mrs. Puckerman was nodding.

“Of course he knew.” Noah’s mother muted the television and set the remote control on the floor, letting the figures play out the scene in silence. “Not that we talked about it all that much. He was eight, Jake was six, and Sarah less than a year apart, when I left.”

“When you left Aaron?”

She indicated the screen. “When I left all of them. I took Noah and Sarah and moved to Lima to live with my mom.”

“You, and Aaron,” Kurt said slowly, “and… Felix, and Tanisha.”

Mrs. Puckerman nodded. She didn’t look angry anymore. “They were doing shows at Bryce’s theater. I don’t even know who paired off first. The three of them were together when I met Felix.”

Kurt felt his brain scrambling to keep up with all the connections. “But you weren’t performing?”

“Not on the stage. I performed in the pit sometimes, when they needed one of the instruments I played. I was around, because my father and Bryce owned the theater. Bryce was his brother, my uncle.”

“Noah’s great-uncle,” he whispered.

She nodded. “Eventually my father and Bryce sold the theater in New York and split the money. Bryce used his portion to set up a foundation at Usdan to provide opportunities for young performers. My father put his share into the renovation of a beautiful opera house in Dayton, not far from where his wife’s family grew up. Well—not far in theory.”

“Your father _owns_ the opera house?”

“My father passed away six years ago.” Mrs. Puckerman crossed her arms, settling back on the couch, her mouth set in a fierce expression. “I own the opera house.”

“But…” Kurt was staring at her outright now. She didn’t look at him.

“What, women can’t own property?”

“No, no, just—you could have sold it. Noah said you went back to school to become a nurse after your divorce. You worked double shifts the whole time he was growing up. All that overtime, and you could have—”

“Look, I _like_ being a nurse,” she announced. “I went back to school for _me._ And what exactly would Aaron have done if I’d sold it? Or Felix, for that matter? Tanisha’s not going to raise Jake on a waitress’s salary.” Her glare intensified, still trained on the television. “Just because I don’t want to be involved with actors anymore doesn’t mean I don’t want to support the arts. Dayton’s a better place because of what my father did for that theater. Felix makes a difference in that community. And Aaron, when he’s not fucking up his life with heroin, he does too.”

Kurt was speechless. He sat there in silence as Mrs. Puckerman pressed EJECT on the remote control and the VHS tape slid out. She carefully stashed it back in its box and replaced it among the dozens of others.

“Do you…” Kurt waited until she turned back to him. “Do you have any videos of Bryce performing?”

She raised an eyebrow, and sniffed. “Yeah, I have a couple of those. What do you want to see?”

He sat forward, clutching his hands in his lap. “Any chance you have a production of _Cyrano?”_

The recording was better quality than the home-made video of _Earnest_ had been, a dub of a professionally made film of a stage production, complete with closeups and multiple camera angles. She scanned forward until they got to Cyrano’s entrance, then let it play.

“It’s the Hooker translation,” Sarah said after a few minutes, sounding disappointed. “Noah says the Burgess is way better.”

“Lots of people would argue with him,” said her mother, “but the Burgess translation wasn’t even written until 1971. Bryce performed this a long time before that.”

Kurt had watched multiple productions of _Cyrano_ with Noah over the last three years. It was hard to translate the movement and voice of a 40-years-younger Bryce into the person Kurt had worked with less than two weeks ago. As Kurt watched this agile man cover the stage with his fencing foil, he could almost see another actor in performing in his place, as Bryce gave the stage direction: _down three… up one… and turn… Kurt, face the audience, we do not need to see your behind._

“Oh,” Kurt said, and burst into tears.

Mrs. Puckerman let out an exasperated sigh. Then she gathered him into her arms and held him, not unlike the way his own father had done that morning.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but she just held on tighter.

“It’s a hell of a loss,” she told him fiercely. “You go right ahead and miss him.”

Bryce’s exalted performance went on in the background while Sarah went to get a box of tissues and a glass of water at her mother’s prompting. He sat back, red-faced, as she handed him the box.

“Thank you, Mrs. Puckerman,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “How about you call me Ruth, all right?”

They didn’t watch the whole video. Ruth received a phone call and excused herself, and Sarah and Kurt turned off the television and put away the cassette. Then Sarah took him into the kitchen to show him the new countertop, while he marveled again at the changes in the house.

His eye was caught by an old note on the fridge. _Pillsburying, Thursday, May 17, 2pm._ It wasn’t a word he knew, but it was similar enough to _bunburying_ that he had to wonder.

Ruth passed him in the hallway, fixing her hair with one hand while she pulled on her jacket. She was clearly distracted, but the smile she gave him was real.

“Come by again,” she said. “Just drop in. It doesn’t matter if Noah’s here or not. We’ll watch more of Bryce’s back catalog.”

Kurt smiled back. “I’d like that.”


	22. Chapter 22

Kurt did not get a call back from Aaron Puckerman. He spent the rest of the day working through Mrs. Wright’s notes and preparing the application and cover letter for NYADA’s Young Playwright contest. By the time he slid the finished manuscript into an envelope, it was dinnertime.

“Hey.” He turned to see Michael standing at the foot of the staircase. “I heard about your director. That’s terrible.”

“Yes, well.” Kurt gave him a smile. “He was an old man, and he lived a rich life. I’m finding out more about him every moment. It turns out he was Puck’s great-uncle, on his mother’s side.”

Michael’s jaw hung open. He laughed. “Really?”

“Really,” Kurt agreed. “That’s not even the most amazing thing I learned today. Oh…” He beckoned Michael to come closer, and as he did, he dropped his voice to a murmur. “Mrs. Wright told me to advise Finn to audition for NYADA.”

“Whoa.” He crossed his arms, taking this in. “I—I’m not really sure what to say about that.”

“Yeah, I wanted to ask you before I said anything to Finn. You’ve gone through auditions for NYADA, and you’ve also performed with Finn. You have at least a sense of what he can do. I’m aware you’ll have a hard time being entirely objective, but… do you think he has a chance of getting in?”

“God. I have no idea.” Michael was pacing now. _“I_ didn’t even expect to get in, Kurt.”

“I know it’s a long shot. His grades aren’t the best.”

“Well, neither are mine. I don’t think that matters so much. I’m just not sure Finn wants that kind of focus on the arts. It’s a conservatory, right? No extracurriculars, no sports, no fraternities.” He shrugged helplessly. “But… if you’re asking me if I think he’s good enough?”

“That’s what I’m asking.” Kurt touched his arm. “I won’t tell him what you said, if you don’t—”

“Hey, guys.” They spun to face the stairs as Finn descended. He looked curious, but not suspicious. “Quinn and Scott are going to the movies. Kurt, you want to come?”

“No, thanks,” he said. “You go ahead. Ask Quinn if she knows where Puck is.”

“I’m pretty sure if any of us find out, we’ll tell you.” Michael followed him upstairs with an apologetic look to Kurt, but Kurt waved him on. Finn’s acting talent wasn’t the most pressing matter.

 _So much gossip,_ he texted Chris, _you would not believe._

He didn’t receive a response right away, not until after dinner was over and he was taking out the compost.

 _Given the choice between a secure place to live with a bunch of judgmental homophobes,_ said Chris, _and crashing on the floor of a friend’s apartment in New York City for a few weeks, which would you choose?_

 _If I’d just been beaten, honestly, I would have to think it through._ Kurt gazed from the yard through the window at Carole in the family room, leaning over to give his dad a kiss. _Those aren’t actually your only two options. I bet my parents would let you stay here._

_I’d be crying if I hadn’t already spent all day doing that, Kurt. Thank you. Now, bring it. What’s the latest dirt?_

_I’m not even sure where to start._ As he considered the ramifications of telling others about what he’d learned, his phone signaled an incoming call from an unknown number. The area code was Dayton. _Talk later,_ he typed quickly, then picked up the call as he climbed the steps of the back deck. “Hello?”

_“Is this Kurt?”_

It wasn’t Aaron. “Yes, that’s me. Who’s this?”

_“It’s Felix Abrams. We met at Usdan last week. I—Aaron received your call.”_

Kurt found himself smiling. “I’m pretty sure you’re not his secretary.”

 _“No, I’m helping him out this week. He and Bryce were close.”_ Felix’s voice was steady, but Kurt knew exactly how well a good actor could cover their real feelings with pacing and breathing.

“My understanding is that you and he were close, too.”

 _“Um—”_ Felix laughed, sounding uncertain. _“I’m not sure what you—”_

“I’m looking for Noah,” he interrupted. “Have you also been told not to tell me where he is?”

There was a long pause. _“I haven’t been told that directly, no, but… maybe the two of us should have a talk. Just to make sure we’re all on the same page.”_

He closed the door behind him. “My schedule is wide open.”

_“Well… I’ll be at the opera house tomorrow, doing some maintenance. I could use a hand?”_

“I would be happy to help,” Kurt said. They settled the details quickly, and Felix hung up before he could ask any more questions.

 _You’re not going to leave me hanging?_ Chris’s last text demanded. _Gossip?_

He sighed. _Bad form, I know, but now that I think about it, I’m not sure how much of it is my story to tell. Can I err on the side of caution and just say you’ll find out everything soon?_

_You’re just punishing me for being in a medically-induced coma for six days._

Kurt snorted. _Yeah, you caught me._

“Dad,” he said, “I’m going to bed, but tomorrow I’m going to head down to Dayton to talk with—um.” _Noah’s dad’s boyfriend_ was only slightly less complicated than the truth, but he wasn’t sure if it was accurate. “One of the actors at the opera house.”

Sitting on his bed, Kurt picked up the copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets he’d had with him at Usdan, the one he’d given to Noah to choose a poem for him to read aloud on his birthday. He flipped to a random selection, read it over, and had to close his eyes and shake his head for a moment before dialing Noah’s number.

It went immediately to voicemail, which told Kurt Noah wasn’t even checking it, but he’d expected that.

“I feel like I’m a detective, tracking you down one person at a time,” he said to the phone. “Today I talked with Mrs. Wright and your mom. Tomorrow it’s Felix. Maybe one of these days I’ll figure out why you’re avoiding me… or maybe I’ll just have to wonder.” He sighed. “It could be because I’m a selfish, judgmental jerk. Regardless, I have to assume you won’t mind if I continue to read to you at night, since talking is the only thing I can do. So…” He checked the page. “Here’s Sonnet 75.”

He cleared his throat, then began:

“So are you to my thoughts as food to life,  
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;  
And for the peace of you I hold such strife  
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found.

Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon  
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;  
Now counting best to be with you alone,  
Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure:

Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,  
And by and by clean starved for a look;  
Possessing or pursuing no delight  
Save what is had, or must from you be took.”

He wiped his eyes, imagining Noah doing whatever ordinary things he did at night, with whoever was there, and feeling more jealous of them than anyone he knew. His voice wobbled on the last couplet.

“Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day… or gluttoning on all, or all away.” He closed the book and set it by the bed. “Good night, Noah. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

* * *

Kurt went to the freight delivery door of the opera house, as Felix had instructed, and found it propped open with a stick. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him, then called into the darkness, “Hello?”

A door opened to the sound of familiar music, and a light switched on at the end of the hallway. “Down here, Kurt.”

He made his way past several closed doors along the narrow, carpeted passageway with a sense of bemusement. Felix was holding the door open for him, wearing safety goggles perched on his head and covered in sweat. The music was now loud enough to confirm Kurt’s guess about what it was.

“Good Lovin’,” he said, as Felix looked at him questioningly. “The song. _The Big Chill_ is my dad’s favorite movie.”

Felix laughed. It was a big, friendly sound, quite at odds with the tentative voice he’d used yesterday with Kurt on the phone. “Your dad has good taste. It was in the CD player.”

The room was enormous, not a stage, but tall enough to be one. The floor was covered with sawdust, and on one end was a long workbench, outfitted with several table saws of various sizes. Propped against the opposite wall were dozens and dozens of wooden flats to be painted and repurposed in building sets, stretching to the ceiling. A platform stood mid-construction in the center.

Felix took off his goggles and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “I was just taking apart the set from _Iolanthe._ The run finished last week. Thank god nothing was slated to begin production this week. We’re postponing auditions for the next two shows until we have a better idea of the schedule for Bryce’s memorial.”

Kurt nodded understanding. “I’m not sure how life can go on as normal when a family member dies.”

“Yeah.” Felix drummed his fingers on the workbench. “If you don’t mind, we’ll get right to work. It’s easier if I have too many things to do to think too hard about it.”

They exited via a staircase adjacent to a massive freight elevator. Felix pointed up as they went down.

“That lifts the finished set pieces up to the stage. It’s quite a production, but we’re lucky this building contains enough space to both build and present each show, or else we’d be trucking the pieces over from a warehouse.”

Kurt gazed up into the three-story elevator shaft with fascination.

“I’ve always wanted to see the costume shop here,” he admitted.

“That is absolutely above my pay grade. The costumers are very protective of their workspaces. But I will keep it in mind, the next time you come down.”

He grimaced. “If Noah ever speaks to me again.”

Felix shook his head, smiling kindly. “I guess it could look like that from the outside, but… you have to trust me when I say that’s not what’s happening here.”

Kurt tucked that cryptic remark away for future reference. As Felix unlocked the door at the bottom of the stairs, Kurt followed him through a dark stretch of hallway and into the prop storage room.

It was a lot less cluttered than it had been when he’d last visited with Noah, Finn, and Michael during the showing of _La Boheme._ He watched Felix indicate three stacks of boxes.

“These, these, and these are going upstairs to the dumpster. Then we can take that stack upstairs for cataloging. With any luck, if we can finish clearing this space before the end of the month, the fire marshal won’t cite us as a hazard.”

The boxes weren’t terribly heavy, but after two flights up and down three times, Kurt was grateful for the bottle of water Felix put into his hand.

“So how was it traveling to New York with Aaron and Sarah?”

“It was an adventure,” Felix said. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “I haven’t seen either Noah or Sarah in years.”

“I think Aaron and Noah are a lot alike,” Kurt said.

Felix nodded thoughtfully. “That may be true.” He took a drink of his water. “Most of my memories of Noah are as a child. But he’s definitely not that anymore.”

Kurt swallowed the lump in his throat, willing himself not to cry. “No.”

Felix retrieved the CD player from the workshop, and they took the remaining boxes of props down the hall to another room filled to the ceiling with labeled shelves and cubicles. Felix showed him the antiquated cataloging system, grinning at Kurt’s raised eyebrow.

“Trust me, I agree, but the person who handles all this stuff has been doing it for over thirty years. They’re not about to ditch their index cards.”

After Kurt filled out one card accurately, Felix handed him a pen and let him do it himself. _Parrot, 4” length,_ he wrote carefully, noting the color, materials, and copying the care instructions regarding taxidermy props from the attached document.

The music provided pleasant background music, until “Natural Woman” came on, and Kurt had to sing along, blinking away tears:

_When my soul was in the lost and found_   
_You came along to claim it_   
_I didn't know just what was wrong with me_   
_'Til your kiss helped me name it_

_Now I'm no longer doubtful, of what I'm living for_   
_And if I make you happy I don't need to do more…_

“You have quite a range,” Felix said when the song was over.

“My dad swears I sound like Ronnie Spector.” At Felix’s blank look, Kurt obliged by singing the chorus to “Be My Baby,” at which point Felix laughed, nodding.

“He’s not wrong.”

Kurt sighed. “It’s a blessing and a curse. I mean, you’re talking to the guy who was cast as Juliet, right? And that was _with_ the choice of casting me as Algernon. I out-gayed Oscar Wilde.”

“It is definitely a challenge to be noticed, both for your presence and your absence,” said Felix. He tapped his pen on the table. “You don’t really have a choice to be who you are. I’m thinking Bryce had to be grateful to take advantage of that. That’s speaking from the point of view of an actor who’s really no one special.”

Kurt regarded him pointedly. “And, perhaps, as someone who’s loved someone who was?”

“Someone who was, and is no longer? Yes.”

He took a moment to puzzle this out before responding. “Even if you’ve moved on?”

“Sometimes people have to, even if they love each other. It’s okay.”

It definitely sounded like he was justifying this to himself. Kurt kept his eyes on his prop. “Do you still love Aaron?”

“Yeah,” Felix said. His voice was so tender, it made Kurt start crying again. “I love Noah, too.”

He sniffed. “I’m pretty sure Ruth still loves you, too. Even if she moved on.”

“Ruth?” Felix said, sounding bewildered. “How—?”

“She told me about her father’s investment in the opera house, and Bryce’s with Usdan.” He glanced over at Felix, who looked somewhat distressed for the first time. “She told me about the four of you.”

“Shit,” he muttered. He set the note card and prop down carefully before getting up to pace.

“Was it worth it?”

“What do you mean?”

Kurt thought about what Noah had told him about his father, and what Aaron had said about Felix, and what Ruth had said yesterday about being with all of them. “I mean… taking the chance on something so unusual, and then leaving, for something more ordinary.”

Felix continued to walk the length of the prop closet, back and forth between the tall shelves. When he turned to face Kurt, he looked a little more calm, but no less perplexed.

“I don’t know,” he said. “If you’d have asked me at the moment I made the decision to leave him, I would have said yes, absolutely. And now…” He shook his head. “I’m still wondering.”

Kurt stood up, leaving his props where they were. Felix was much taller than he was, but Kurt still felt like he had the advantage. He pressed it.

“Until this summer, Noah had no idea you and Aaron were involved. He still doesn’t know anything about Tanisha or his mother. Noah has spent his whole life thinking his dad abandoned his family.”

Felix’s dark eyebrows drew down. He shook his head insistently. “No, that—that’s not how it was.”

“I know. I’m saying _he_ doesn’t.” He took a step forward, then another. He could hear Bryce in his head, telling him _pace yourself, maintain the tension._ “You know, Noah told me his father missed the plans they’d made for his thirteenth birthday. That was the summer of 2007. Four years ago.”

He watched Felix’s face as he calculated the time.

“But I know that Aaron’s memory is a lot like Noah’s,” Kurt went on. “And I had to think: if his memory is that good, how _could_ Aaron have forgotten Noah’s birthday? So I have to think it must have been something else.”

Felix was already nodding. “July 2007, Jacob was five.I remember. He had to have his tonsils out. I was in the middle of a production of _Love’s Labour’s Lost._ Tanisha had nobody else to go with her to the hospital. Aaron was a wreck.” His eyes were far away. “He chose to stay with Jacob, because he figured Ruth would be with Noah.”

Kurt finished cataloging the props in his box while Felix sat with that memory. He thought about Noah’s furious disappointment when he told Kurt how his dad had let him down yet another time—without any awareness that he’d had another kid to think about.

“If it had been Sarah, he would have understood,” Kurt said to himself. “But he didn’t know who Jacob was, not really. He still thinks Aaron cheated with Tanisha.”

“It’s the poison of expectations.”

Kurt looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

Felix slowly took his seat. “It feeds most conflict. The consequence of deviation from the norm is… death. Societal, emotional, spiritual. If you feed that expectation, you must conform, or risk everything of consequence.”

“You’re talking about theater,” Kurt said. He felt suddenly nervous. “Right?”

“It depends on what you value. Whose expectations are you attempting to fulfill? Your audience, or your friends? Your family? Your community?” Felix gave him a tired smile. “I remember Aaron and I talked about this, long ago. He said, _if they knew the truth, I would be transformed in their eyes._ And I said…”

Kurt waited as long as he could before prompting, “What?”

“I said, _If that happens, it’s not because they know you’re gay, it just means you’re not a good enough actor.”_

Kurt stopped his laugh between two tight lips. Felix chuckled.

“I bet he did not like that at all,” Kurt said.

He shook his head, still laughing. “He sure didn’t. But I’d like to think it opened up possibilities for him that hadn’t been available before that.” His laughter resolved into a rueful sigh. “That was at a time when challenging anybody’s expectations was a much harder prospect. But now…”

He shrugged, and smiled at Kurt. Kurt found himself smiling back.

“Maybe.” Kurt thought about Chris, and added, “It’s still a risk.”

“It is,” Felix agreed. “But a risk worth taking.”

Kurt held up his last prop. “Should I go back downstairs to get another box?”

Felix stood up. “I think we’re done here. Aaron said he would appreciate it if you’d stop by the house, if you still have time.”

He got Aaron’s address from Felix, just in case they got separated, but Kurt was able to follow him out of the city to the north suburbs, where they’d visited earlier that summer. Felix didn’t ring the bell; he just took out his ring of keys and unlocked the door. Kurt went in with him.

“He had physical therapy this morning, so he might be resting,” Felix told him in a quiet voice. “It takes a lot out of him. I’ll go check and see how he’s doing. Would you mind waiting in the kitchen?”

Kurt walked slowly around the kitchen, looking at what was on display, and what was not. There were school photos of both Noah and Sarah taped to the fridge, although they were several years old. There was also a snapshot of another boy, slimmer and younger than Noah, with curly hair and a stunning smile, dressed in leotards and ballet slippers.

The only other picture on the wall was a large framed cast photo. Everyone was on an unfamiliar stage in what looked like medieval costume and makeup, smiling for the camera. Kurt looked closely at each face, but he didn’t recognize any of the performers.

“That’s the 1980 Broadway revival of _Camelot_ ,” Aaron said, emerging from the hallway. He was leaning on a cane, moving with care. He paused beside Kurt and pointed at a man in the photo. “Noah’s grandfather. His mother’s father.”

Kurt nodded. “Was that before he owned the theater on Long Island?”

If Aaron was startled by the question, he didn’t show it. “Just before.That investment could easily have been a disaster, but they made enough money on the property in the first year to finance their first couple of shows, and after that they were able to build up enough savings to pay the costs of the next couple. After that, it was easy to take risks.”

“Because they were safe. No matter what happened.”

“That’s right.” Felix answered him, standing in the doorway beside the refrigerator. He was watching Aaron.

Aaron ignored him, continuing his deliberate walk past him to open the refrigerator and take out a pitcher of iced tea. Kurt thought the trembling in his hand was less than it had been in the past, but it was hard to be sure.

“Bryce always took risks,” Kurt said. “Even before it was safe.”

“I always admired him for that,” Aaron said, nodding. “Some of us take the easy way out instead.”

Felix snorted. _“Easy_ is a relative term.”

Without spilling a drop, Aaron poured a glass of iced tea. Their eyes met as he handed it to Kurt.

“I know you want to talk to Noah.”

“I just wanted to make sure he knew about Bryce.”

Aaron nodded again. “That’s all?”

“Well… no. But that’s all I felt like I had the right to expect from him. There was never an agreement what would happen after this summer. When his therapist…” He paused, glancing at Felix, but Aaron gestured for him to go on. “When Greg told him he should take time to work on himself, without dating anybody, he listened. And it helped. I could tell. I don’t want to… to stand in the way of him getting what he needs.”

“What if what he needs is you?” Felix asked softly. He was still looking at Aaron.

“What if he’s seventeen and he has no idea what he really needs?” Aaron replied. He massaged his left hand, grimacing. “Goddamnit.”

“I’ll get your meds.”

Felix disappeared down the hallway. Aaron glanced after him briefly, but then he turned back to Kurt.

“Kurt, both you and Noah are getting to the point where you’re going to have to make some choices. Not about relationships, but about life. Noah might think he doesn’t have many choices, but he does. I think, because of you, what you’ve done for him, he realizes he has more than he thought.” He smiled. “In more ways than one. But now he’s got to develop a way to make the system work for himself, to integrate into a framework he thought was going to be nothing but a barrier. He has to know _he_ did that, so he can learn to trust himself.” He watched Kurt, his expression intense. “Do you understand?”

“I think so.” Kurt tried to remain strong in the face of Aaron’s intense regard. It wasn’t easy. “He doesn’t want me to—to be his white knight. To save him.”

“Yes.” Aaron looked pleased. “I think there is no question about how Noah feels about you. In time, I think he will learn to accept it, to make it part of himself. He’s always been an intuitive boy. Now he must learn to depend on a more reliable framework.”

“Order. Tension. Design.” Kurt smiled as Aaron’s eyes lit with recognition, and together they recited the rest of George Seurat’s principles: “Composition, balance, light, harmony.”

“I noticed love was not included,” Kurt added.

Aaron shrugged. “Perhaps it is implied.”

He looked up as Felix appeared beside him, handing him a pill bottle. Felix stood waiting, not offering to help, as Aaron struggled to open it, but eventually he managed to get the cap off. He swallowed two with his iced tea.

“I should probably go.” Kurt took a step away, feeling reluctant to leave. “Um… if you do talk to Noah, please tell him I’m sorry. And if he wants to talk to me, he knows where to find me.”

“Thanks for your help with the props,” said Felix. “I hope we’ll see you at the memorial service.”

Kurt sat in the Navigator in Aaron’s driveway and cried for a few minutes, feeling the weight of the world’s expectations. They didn’t feel like poison to him, but how could he be sure? He wasn’t any older or wiser than Noah was.

Before starting the car, he called Chris.

“I am done chasing after this boy,” he declared. “No matter what I might feel about him. It’s time for me to move on.”

 _“That’s the spirit,”_ said Chris. _“You’re learning to lie like a real actor.”_

* * *

It was a long two-day drive back to New York for the memorial, but Asher offered to drive with him. His dad had little more to say to him than “Remember to bring cash for tolls, and watch your speed through Pennsylvania, okay?”

Asher asked him to wait in the driveway. He didn’t even wave as he walked out of the house, carrying his garment bag over his shoulder.

“Chris never came back to Michigan, did he?” he asked as they loaded his things into the car.

Kurt grimaced. “I don’t think he’s even technically out of the hospital yet. But I have no doubt he’ll be there.”

Chris had become less and less available to Kurt as the week went on. It may have been that all his energy had been absorbed by planning the memorial, but Kurt wondered how Chris was doing now that his future plans had been put on hold.

“What would you do next year, if you didn’t get into any of your top five?” Kurt asked Asher as they drove. They had long since compared their desirable colleges. Asher was looking at west coast MFAs with a dance focus; Kurt wanted a New York musical theater conservatory program above all else.

“I think I would still attend one of them, even if they don’t admit me to the program I want, and take all my gen eds, and apply again the following year. My grades are good. With a degree from Dalton, my counselor says I’ll get in somewhere.” He curled his bicep, making his considerable forearm muscles pop, and grinned. “Or I could go into modeling.”

“You probably could,” Kurt agreed. “And you’d be bored out of your mind.”

“Yeah, but I’d make money. It would be a relief not to worry about that for a change.” He looked sideways at Kurt. “I don’t know. After spending a summer at Usdan, I’m considering New York as a possibility. Would you think it was weird if I changed one of my top five to Juilliard?”

“No! Why would that be weird? That would be fantastic.” He smiled at Asher, who looked relieved. “I have more male friends now than I have had at any point in my life. I’d definitely consider that an accomplishment, and I’m pleased to count you among them.”

“Thanks, Kurt. It’s mutual. I guess meeting Bryce and having him pass away so suddenly, it made me think about my next steps a little differently.”

Kurt nodded, thinking about what Aaron had said about Noah’s need to integrate. “You’re not the only one.”

The memorial had been scheduled at a community theater in Suffolk County. Chris told Kurt that Bryce was a staunch agnostic (“He firmly didn’t give a crap.”) and therefore would not have appreciated any kind of religious service, but Kurt thought it was appropriate to have the celebration of his life at a theater.

When they arrived, the parking lot adjacent to the theater had filled up and the public parking across the street was nearly full.

“Do you think they’re all here for Bryce?” Asher whispered as they waited at the crosswalk.

“I have no idea.” He felt his heart stutter, and grabbed for Asher’s arm. “Oh my god. That—that’s Sutton Foster. And that’s Lin-Manuel Miranda. And _Angela Lansbury._ I may faint.”

“Come on, you diva.” Asher looked entirely too calm as he supported Kurt on his way up the steps to the front door.

They took a program and smiled at the girl holding the door—and paused. Kurt squinted. “Chris?”

“I’m his twin sister Emily,” she said, with the patience of someone who has clearly had this conversation before. “Chip is inside.”

 _“Chip.”_ Kurt raised an eyebrow. Asher had to drag him past her and through the second set of doors into the lobby. He proceeded to rubberneck the crowd, making squeaking noises as he spotted someone who couldn’t possibly be anyone but Carol Burnett. “Did you hear what she called him? And is that _Lea Salonga?”_

“Kurt,” Asher sighed. It was about as frustrated as Kurt had ever heard him, and he toned it down a little.

They spotted Chris at the next set of doors, wearing a smart tailored suit that was too purple to be navy. The bruises and stitches on his face looked terrible, but the swelling had gone down, and he mostly looked like himself. He accepted a very gentle hug from both of them.

“Family is up front.” He gave Kurt a deliberate look, and Kurt glanced up the center aisle, catching a glimpse of Noah’s bald head beside that of his mother and sister.

“Yeah,” Kurt said. “I thought maybe you would find that out.”

“I thought maybe you would have _told me_ Bryce and Puck were related.”

Asher’s eyes flew open, and he gave Kurt an open-mouthed stare. “No way.”

“You’re blocking the door, gentlemen,” said someone behind them with annoyance. Kurt hurriedly made way for—he let out another squeak.

“That was _Brian Bedford,”_ he hissed, tugging on Chris’s sleeve. Chris gave him a tired smile.

“The guest list for this event looked like a freaking Sondheim benefit. He was on the list, too, by the way, though I hear his health is not the best. Come on, I have seats reserved stage right.”

“We met your sister.” Kurt bumped his right side and Chris winced. “Sorry. Do we get to call you Chip?”

“Not until you’ve attended one of my Elvis impersonation concerts.” Chris smiled airily. “You think I’m kidding. I have an entire wall of trophies.”

Anthony and Oliver were already in the row ahead of them. They offered regretful smiles as Kurt and Asher arrived. Chris remained standing.

Kurt gazed up at him. “I guess you must have a lot to take care of?”

Chris shrugged. “Actually, it hurts too much to sit down. Morphine, anybody? No? I’ll go acquire my own fix. BRB.”

Kurt looked over at Noah more than once, but although he did catch Sarah’s eye and exchanged waves, Noah stared only at his lap. He was wearing his glasses. Several rows back, Aaron sat beside Felix and a woman who could only be Tanisha.

The house lights remained up, but eventually a spot appeared, trained on the microphone which stood center stage in front of the curtain. The conversation subsided to a quiet murmur, but it wasn’t until a projector screen descended from the ceiling that people fell silent. A photo of a younger Bryce appeared on the screen, smiling at someone off-camera.

Bethany and Trinity came on from stage left at the same time Chris and Ian came on from the right. The auditorium, now more than half-full, applauded as they stood together, acknowledging the applause with grace. Chris took the microphone from its stand and handed it to Bethany.

“We are here to celebrate the life of Bryce Yitzchak Coleman,” she said. “Each of you knew him, as a relative, an actor, a mentor, a director, or a friend. We hope you leave here today with a richer awareness of the lives he’s touched and the difference he has made in the theater community.” She passed the microphone to Ian.

“Bryce was born in 1932…”

Kurt listened with half an ear as he watched Noah, who wasn’t looking at Ian either. When Ian mentioned, “…his brother, Owen, and his sister, Leah…” he saw Ruth take Sarah’s hand. Sarah gazed at the stage in fascination. Ruth attempted to hand Noah a tissue, but he shook his head.

“Throughout the eighties, Bryce and his brother produced three shows a year in this theater,” Trinity said.

Kurt blinked. He turned to the program, upon which _Riverhead Community Theater, est. 1945_ was written. This was Bryce’s brother’s theater?

“The theater was sold in 1989 to Kenneth Grant, who continues to maintain it for use by civic and children’s theater programs,” Trinity continued. “We are grateful for his kind donation of the space today.”

There was a smattering of applause as Trinity acknowledged the owner, sitting in the front row with an elderly woman. He gave a friendly wave to the star-studded audience.

“Perhaps his most significant achievement was the series of youth productions Bryce directed at Usdan Summer Camp for the Arts,” said Chris. “Not only did he donate his time, energy, and expertise to Usdan for nineteen summers, a total of thirty-eight productions, he established a foundation with the profits from his share of the sale of this theater to support low-income applicants. Hundreds of children were able to attend Usdan thanks to Bryce’s generosity. Over the years, he helped over forty young graduates of the program make their start by providing them internships at theaters and production houses. Several of them are in the crowd today, and have gone on to successful careers in acting, scriptwriting, and directing.” Chris gazed out at that spot in the theater he had shown Kurt, the one he said made everyone think he was speaking directly to them. “I am honored to be among the last of them.”

The projector screen displayed cast photos from several of Bryce’s camp productions, ending with _Romeo & Juliet _and _Earnest._ Kurt was so distracted by the close-up of himself and Noah gazing into one another’s eyes that he missed the arrival of Noah himself on stage.

“Several individuals have asked to speak about Bryce’s life this afternoon. Here to begin is Noah Puckerman, Usdan participant since 2006, and Bryce’s great-nephew.”

It was Anthony and Oliver’s turn to make fish-mouthed expressions of surprise, but Noah seemed to have no trouble maintaining the warm, intimate stage presence Chris had initiated. He nodded at Chris in thanks as he took the microphone.

“Sondheim tells us there are only two worthwhile things to leave behind when you leave this world: children, and art.” Noah smiled at the smattering of laughter that spread through the audience. “I was reminded of that this summer, not at Usdan, but in my own community’s summer theater production of _Sunday in the Park with George._ Bryce began his career on the Broadway stage, but with small, deliberate steps, he moved into the relative anonymity of community theater, and then took a further step away from the industry, to work with children at a summer camp. Someone who didn’t understand who he was or what he was doing might have accused him of living his life backward.”

He moved downstage, out from behind the microphone stand, commanding the stage with no effort at all. Chris watched from the side, his expression uncommonly solemn.

“Bryce never managed to step out of the spotlight entirely, of course. He coached us, each year, never to read the reviews.” He grinned. “We always did, though. Sorry, Bryce.” The audience laughed again. “Ultimately, that was his goal: recognition, not only of the accomplishments of the kids who performed on the Usdan stage, but of the kids themselves. Bryce taught us what it meant to be seen for who we were. Not kids, pretending to be actors, but as _actors._ And because he said it was true, it was.”

Noah offered a measured silence, and the audience ate it up like ice cream. When he spoke again, it was into absolute silence.

“I make a lot of mistakes.” He gazed at the floor for a moment. Kurt thought he could see Noah’s lip tremble before he went on. “I regret nearly all of them. But Bryce never got mad at me for any of them. It was like he was holding up my right, with every shameful act, to continue to be treated as a human being. It didn’t matter to him that I was a little over the top. He _wanted_ me to be that way. He accepted me for doing things other people thought were unacceptable. Not only accepted me, but valued me. I don’t know if he realized how important that was, that I could count on him for that. I’d like to think he did know.” He gave the audience a tight little smile. “Bryce, you gave the world a heck of a lot of art, but it’s the children you influenced who will carry on your legacy.” 

He turned and passed the microphone to Bethany, then moved out of the spotlight to stand beside Chris, his face expressionless. Kurt looked over at Ruth, whose face was buried in Sarah’s hair, and then at Aaron, who was openly weeping. Felix held tight to his hand on the armrest between them.

“I have no idea why they let him go first,” Asher whispered to Kurt. “Nobody’s going to top that.”

It was true. Kurt sniffled and smiled through all of the rest of the thoughtful reminiscences, including one by Josh Gad, who told a very funny story about Bryce and _Brighton Beach Memoirs_ and a bowl of cooked pasta, but Noah’s words stayed with him long after the speeches were over and everyone was taking refreshments in the lobby.

Noah was unsurprisingly absent at the reception, but Felix came right up to Kurt and shook his hand.

“Kurt, this is Tanisha Roth,” he said.

Tanisha took his hand in both of hers, smiling. “Aaron told me how moved he was by your portrayal of Juliet. I did that show with Bryce, too, years ago.”

“Bryce once told us he didn’t much care for _Romeo & Juliet_.” Kurt looked at Aaron, who stood with his cane beside Felix. “Do you know anything about why?”

“What, you mean we need a reason not to like _Romeo & Juliet?”_ Aaron scoffed. “Beyond the fact that it’s full of death and glorifies all the worst of societal expectations from the 15th century?”

“Besides that,” Kurt agreed.

“I believe it has something to do with an early director telling him he was “too tall” to play Romeo,” said Tanisha. “Which was almost certainly code for “too gay,” but that was the sixties for you.”

“But this time, he did these two shows the way he wanted to.” Felix touched her sleeve. “He did them on his terms. And, believe me, I’ve played Romeo, and if I can do it, Bryce was certainly not too tall.” He flashed Kurt a smile. “Or too gay.”

The statement gave Kurt strength to make it through the rest of the reception. Even Asher looked exhausted by the end.

“You’re not driving home tonight, are you?” Anthony asked.

“Just as far as we can, and then we’re going to find a motel.”

“Chris is staying with Oliver’s family right now. Maybe you guys would come stay there tonight, too?” Anthony glanced over at Chris, who was the center of a small crowd of hilarity; he had apparently taken enough painkillers to prompt the telling of some very amusing anecdotes. “I bet he would appreciate it.”

Kurt watched Asher’s face for any sign of reticence, but he just nodded. “If your parents wouldn’t mind more people?”

“I think they’re kind of surprised I have friends,” Oliver said. “They wouldn’t mind. We’ve got room.”

It was a subdued gathering of Usdan graduates who ended up in Oliver’s large and tastefully furnished home. Oliver’s parents indeed did not seem to mind, and supplied sleeping bags and pizzas from Mario’s before leaving them alone on the second floor.

“You should probably go to bed,” Anthony told Chris.

“Bed is this recliner,” Chris informed him. He gazed around the room in mock outrage. “How is it we are having a reunion party a week after camp and not one of us is initiating any kind of sex or drugs?”

“You’re the only one with drugs,” Bethany pointed out. “No, we’re not asking you to share.”

“I’m completely disappointed in all of you,” he announced. “It’s the end of an era.”

There was a depressed silence.

“It’s true,” said Oliver. “I feel so sad for all the kids who will never get to do one of Bryce’s productions.”

“What is Usdan going to do without him, anyway?” Anthony wondered. “Who would ever do what he did, without being paid for it?”

“Never you fear, my pretties.” Chris waved a hand from the recliner. “Things are afoot. Prepare to be astounded.”

Less than a minute later, he was snoring. Oliver turned out the light as Kurt covered him with an afghan.

“You’re going to convince him to initiate a police report against those men,” Kurt said to Anthony. “Even if it seems impossible and nothing will come of it. He wants to; he just needs someone to hold his hand while he does it.”

Anthony nodded, looking startled. “I—yeah. I can do that.”

Anthony and Bethany went home, and Oliver said good night, leaving Kurt and Asher in their sleeping bags on the floor of the guest room, as Anthony snored in the recliner.

“You can sleep on the bed if you want,” Kurt said.

“Nah. It’s like being roommates again.” Asher shifted to his side to face Kurt. “Really, the floor’s about as comfortable as those camp beds were.”

“My stepbrother is a pretty good roommate, but it’s not quite the same thing. Thanks for coming out here with me.”

Asher nodded. “Bryce taught me a lot about acting, but I think that being on stage this summer, as Jack Worthing, was a turning point for me. I’m not afraid anymore to put myself out there. Whatever happens next, I think I can handle it.”

“Yeah,” said Kurt with conviction. “I think you can, too.” _Now if only I were so certain about myself._

Kurt waited until he was pretty certain Asher was asleep to go out in the dark hallway and call Noah’s voicemail.

“I saw you today,” he said quietly. “On the stage at Bryce’s memorial. Did you even know you were related to him? I couldn’t tell if you were surprised by that news, as the rest of us were. I’m at Oliver’s house. Tomorrow Asher and I will go back to Ohio, and you’ll go… wherever you’ve been, I imagine.” He exhaled. “You looked amazing, and you sounded… like another person. Like a grown man. I was so proud of you. I just wanted you to know.”

He returned to the guest room, climbed back into his sleeping bag, and waited a long time before finally falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Riverhead Theater is actually on Long Island, but I have no idea who performs there. -amy


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's third season, their senior year. The story is no longer canon compliant, but there are tidbits of things that happen in that season sprinkled throughout. -amy

“I don’t know,” was the answer on Kurt’s lips on the first day of senior year. Mostly the question he was answering was _Where’s Puck?_ but it also applied to other questions. _Did you have a good summer? Where are you going to college next year?_

It was even the answer when Santana asked him, “What musical do you think we should do this fall?”

For that, at least, he had some meaningful thoughts. “Something big, with lots of dancing, to feature Brittany and Mike.”

That made her smile. At the first Glee club meeting, she and Quinn and Brittany converged on Mr. Schue before he could explain the meaning of the purple pianos all over the school.

“We want to do a musical this fall,” Quinn said. “And we think Kurt should produce it.”

Kurt sat up straight. “Wait a second.”

“Totally,” Finn agreed. “Kurt, you studied that stuff all summer. The only person more qualified is Rachel, and there’s no way she wouldn’t want to perform. Right, Rach?”

“Correct,” said Rachel primly. Her face was tanned and her hair somewhat shorter, but she looked to be the same person who’d left McKinley last spring. Kurt knew that wasn’t something he could say about himself.

“Well, what about Puck?” he stammered.

Santana looked right and left. “You see him anywhere around here? For all we know, he’s back in juvie.”

Kurt bit his lip, casting around for an answer that would make sense. “His—his great-uncle died two weeks ago.”

Mr. Schue gave him a sympathetic nod. “Barbara Wright told me his uncle’s memorial was really something else.”He looked around the room at their eager faces. “I think that’s exactly the kind of challenge we need. What do you say, Kurt? Are you up for putting on a big production?”

He swallowed. This was as close to stage fright as he’d felt since the end of _Grease_ his eighth grade year. “Well, I guess…”

“Kurt, you were amazing in _Romeo & Juliet,”_ said Tina.

Mike nodded. “We trust you, right?”

Mercedes reached out and put a soft hand on his arm. “Come on, Kurt,” she said, smiling. “If anybody can do it, you can.”

He took a big breath, then let it out. “Okay. Yes. I’ll do it.”

When Kurt texted Chris and Asher at lunch, they were both wildly enthusiastic about the idea of Kurt producing the school musical. Asher called him back right away.

 _“I think I’m going to audition for the Warblers this year,”_ he said. _“Not that I really have time, but it would be fun.”_

“That’s exactly how I feel about this,” Kurt agreed. “My course load is ridiculous. Maybe I should drop AP Calculus. And yes, you should definitely audition for the Warblers.”

 _“All right. Oh, and I have a roommate this year.”_ He sighed. _“I did request not to have a single, but now I’m kind of regretting it. He’s been civil enough, but from what little I’ve seen of him on Facebook, he’s a right-wing asshole.”_

“Yikes.” Kurt shivered. “After what happened with Chris, I really don’t want you to take any chances. Can you talk to somebody about switching to a different room?”

_“We have a two-week grace period in which we can make any adjustments, but so far all they said was for us to try to work things out. I promise I won’t let anything slide, okay? And good luck with the musical!”_

By the end of the first day of school, Chris had provided a spreadsheet outlining twelve suggestions about which musical they should do, ranked by number of performers, male/female parts, dance production scenes, with all voice parts listed for each. Kurt had to laugh, shaking his head.

“You really need to get a job,” he told Chris on the drive home from school.

 _“My surgeon says I can’t dance for another three weeks,”_ Chris replied on the speaker. _“You’ll have to live with me being your virtual assistant director. Also, I’m going to be lining up your college auditions for you. Juilliard is first, in October.”_

“I’m not auditioning for Juilliard,” protested Kurt.

“Why not?” Finn asked. “Hi, Chris, it’s Finn.”

_“I know who you are, Mr. Boatman. Tell your stepbrother he needs to audition everywhere because all the schools’ application departments talk to one another, at least about the applicants who impress them. Follow Bryce’s advice. All attention is good attention at this point, remember?”_

Kurt frowned at Finn’s encouraging nod. “Juilliard doesn’t have a musical theater program.”

_“Tell me you wouldn’t appreciate an opportunity to focus on acting for two years, Kurt. You could still take voice lessons and dance. I’m already putting together the schedule for applications and auditions. Just smile and nod, Kurt. I’m not going to take no.”_

“He’s smiling, but he’s not nodding,” Finn reported.

Chris laughed. _“It’s a start.”_

“Thou shalt kill me with such cherishing,” Kurt said balefully. “I’ll call you later after I look at the list of potential musicals, _Chip.”_ He disconnected the call.

“This is going to be awesome, Kurt,” Finn said.

Kurt couldn’t help smile at his enthusiasm. “You’re going to audition for NYADA, right?”

“Of course. I mean, lots of people are way better than me, but so what, right? Being in that musical with Michael and Quinn made it a lot easier to feel like, you know, it’s a group effort. Like in _Sunday in the Park_.”

“Like Sondheim said,” Kurt agreed. “Together, we are more than the sum of our parts.”

* * *

Blaine called him at the end of the first week. Kurt considered not answering when he saw his name on the screen, but he decided that was just cowardice on his part.

“Have you scheduled auditions for the Warblers yet?” he asked.

 _“Oh, they were last week,”_ said Blaine. _“We try to get them out of the way before the semester begins.”_

Kurt frowned. “How exactly is that fair for incoming freshmen? They wouldn’t even know about the Warblers until after it was too late.”

_“That’s kind of the point, Kurt. It’s an elite society club, not a free-for-all. You have to know who to talk to.”_

“Didn’t you tell Asher he should audition?”

 _“Oh. I forgot about that.”_ Blaine sounded thoughtful. _“Well, that’s different. I could certainly set up a special invitation for him. I know he said he can sing, but… are you sure he’s any good?”_

“I still haven’t heard him.”

 _“Kurt, I don’t want to be embarrassed by this.”_ Blaine sighed. _“Maybe I could go to his room and listen to him there, before I put myself out there with the Warbler’s Council?”_

He wanted to give Blaine a piece of his mind. _Elite social club, my ass._ But he modulated his voice and said, as kindly as he could, “Thank you, Blaine. I’m sure he would appreciate your help. I’ll have him contact you.”

Asher was more than a little distraught when Kurt told him. _“Blaine Anderson wants to come to my room and hear me sing?”_

“You met him,” Kurt replied. “He’s an ordinary person, and this is just another audition. Don’t stress out about it.”

By comparison, Finn was handling Michael’s move to New York with ease.

“We talk on the phone every day,” Finn said over dinner, when Carole asked how Michael was doing. “Yeah, it’s not exactly the same as having him here, but he’s excited about NYADA, and I’m kind of okay with having my senior year without him.”

“But you’re still together?” Carole wanted to know.

“It’s not important right now.” Finn shrugged. “I mean, I love him, and I know he loves me, and that’s not going away. We get to have our own lives. I’m feeling pretty good about that right now.”

Kurt continued to call Noah occasionally at night, and every time he got his voicemail. When the new head of the university theater club emailed Kurt and asked if he and Noah would be returning that fall, Kurt said he wasn’t sure, but he would be in touch. No one in his family asked Kurt about Noah anymore, and after the first few days of school, students stopped talking about his absence.

It wasn’t until long after auditions for _West Side Story_ had been scheduled that Kurt paused outside Ms. Pillsbury’s office, thinking about the note he’d seen weeks before on Ruth Puckerman’s refrigerator. After a brief hesitation, he knocked. She smiled and beckoned for him to come in.

“Kurt,” she said, “I’m so excited about your musical! You and Artie are working together, right?”

“Yes, we’re co-directors.” He perched on the chair in front of her desk. “Everything is going smoothly, although we could probably use your help with costumes again this year.”

“I would be thrilled to assist. And how are your plans going for college? Have you decided where to apply?”

Kurt thought about the detailed chart Chris had drawn up for him, and nodded. “I submitted most of my applications before the early deadlines. The first live auditions are in October, but I’m working on my videos for those I can submit online.”

“Well, you’re in better shape than most of the seniors I’ve been talking to this month.” She tilted her head. “What can I help you with?”

“It’s about Noah Puckerman.”

Her smile faded. “Well, um, as a matter of fact…”

“I saw a note on his fridge this summer, dated last spring. It had a funny word on it: _Pillsburying._ Do you happen to know anything about that?”

She blinked. “That is a good story, as a matter of fact. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to tell you about it. Noah came to me last year, asking for advice regarding academic support.”

“I used to tutor him in English,” Kurt said. The pain in his heart was familiar by now, but talking about it brought it all back as though it had happened yesterday. “Mrs. Wright asked me to help him the summer before freshman year, and I read for him a little while in sophomore year, when he was in juvenile detention. After that, though, he didn’t need my help anymore.”

“Well, that’s not quite true. Noah’s exact accommodations are private, of course, but he began using a voice-to-text and text-to-speech application for tests and on his phone. It made a marvelous difference in his grades.”

Kurt was startled into silence. When he nodded, Ms. Pillsbury went on.

“When I began working with him to address his study habits, he made a comment about _bunburying_. Perhaps you know what that is, after your summer productions?” She smiled when he nodded again. “A delightful, if dishonest concept. He used the word _Pillsburying_ when he would miss classes during the school day to talk about academic supports.”

“Well worth it, I would imagine,” said Kurt, hoping his voice wasn’t shaking too badly. “Noah never did care much for going to class.”

“He made some significant improvements, Kurt. His test scores certainly reflected that.” She looked apologetic. “That’s… about all I can say on the subject of Noah Puckerman, though.”

“No, I—I know. His father said he was learning structure.” Kurt swallowed. “Do you… can you just tell me, did he—he didn’t choose the military, did he?”

She looked legitimately surprised by that question. “Oh, goodness. Um, I think you have to have a high school degree to enlist, don’t you?”

Kurt had no idea if that was true, but it was enough of an answer that he decided he would be satisfied. “Thank you, Ms. Pillsbury.”

* * *

After school, Kurt received two texts in quick succession. The first was from Blaine. _Your friend Asher can really sing!_

The second was from Asher. _Now I think I definitely need to do something about my roommate._

Kurt called Asher first from the car. “What happened?” he asked anxiously.

 _“I wish I could say it was nothing.”_ Asher sounded shaky. _“God, I hate this feeling. There’s something particularly terrifying about watching transphobic people find out you’re trans. It’s visceral.”_

“I am so sorry.” Kurt felt a flash of helpless anger. “They’ll have to let you switch rooms now, right?”

_“I’m on the wait list. Until something concrete happens, there’s not anything I can do except watch him be disgusted by me.”_

“God. So much for Dalton’s zero tolerance policy. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help? At least your audition went well, right?”

 _“I think so.”_ Asher sounded suspicious. _“How did you know about the audition?”_

“Ex-boyfriends talk. Blaine was impressed.”

 _“That was fast. He just left a few minutes ago.”_ He sighed. _“Actually, he was there for some of the initial comments. Maybe I should call him and ask him to give a statement.”_

Kurt growled and changed lanes, heading toward the highway. “That’s it. I’m coming down to Dalton.”

_“You don’t have to do that!”_

“The hell I don’t! You’re my friend and I’ll be damned if I watch another one get into trouble because of some homophobic parasite. Transphobic. Whatever. We’re going to take care of this right now.”

Asher let out a laugh. _“I’ve never had a friend like you, Kurt.”_

“I’m an original,” he agreed.

 _You’re a star,_ he heard Noah whisper in his head, and shivered. He shook it off, feeling irritated that even the thought of Noah’s voice would affect him like that.

“Start packing your things,” he added. “And I’ll call Blaine, and we’ll come to your room when I arrive.”

After letting his father know where he was going, he called Blaine, who picked up his call right away.

“I need a favor,” Kurt said. “For Asher. You know, the one who can sing.”

 _“I know who he is.”_ Blaine was clearly amused. _“Kurt, he’s adorable.”_

“His roommate doesn’t seem to think so. Asher said you saw some of what happened.”

_“What happened? Do you mean the comments his roommate made about Asher’s range? Totally irrelevant, by the way. The Warblers can accommodate both high and mid-range tenors at the moment.”_

“What exactly did his roommate say?”

_“I missed some of it. It was right when I arrived. Something like ‘No wonder you’ve got such a high singing voice.’ I didn’t really get it. Was it some comment on him being gay? Is he?”_

“Something like that. Blaine, I’m on my way down to Dalton right now, and I’ll be there in about an hour and fifteen minutes. Can you meet me in Asher’s room, and—I’ll explain the whole thing?”

_“Sure, Kurt. That’ll give me time to talk with the Council about his audition. I’ll see you then.”_

Forty minutes later, Blaine called him back, fuming.

 _“I just had the most infuriating conversation with Sebastian. He’s the new head of the Council this year. God, what a—”_ Blaine made a noise of outrage. _“He said we can’t invite Asher to sing with the Warblers, not because auditions are over, but because, and I quote, ‘The charter clearly states that only males are permitted.’ Without one hint of shame.”_

“Asher’s male,” Kurt said cautiously.

_“Well, of course he is! Trans men are men. I know this is Ohio, but really, give me a break. I’ll tell you, you are really not going to like this douchebag Sebastian.”_

He let out a relieved breath. “Clearly.”

_“Well, when I threatened to quit—”_

“You did what?”

_“I said if the Warblers were going to be as judgmental as that, I’d just as soon not sing with them. Well, the rest of the Council walked the denial back pretty quickly after that. He’s in. And Sebastian better not even think about pulling that kind of crap again.”_

Kurt chuckled. “You know, I really love you.”

 _“I—I love you too, Kurt.”_ Blaine sounded taken aback. _“I mean… just to be clear, you mean as a friend, right? After that conversation we had this summer—”_

“I get to be impressed by you, even if we’re not kissing, Blaine. Just like you get to be my snuggly but entirely platonic ex.”

 _“Well, okay.”_ He was clearly pleased. _“I’ll get some dinner, and meet you at Asher’s room in a half hour.”_

Blaine was already there when Kurt arrived, laughing and joking with Asher, who was definitely blushing.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Kurt said, hugging him.

“It doesn’t quite excuse your absence from the Warblers, Kurt,” said Blaine, “but from what I hear, Asher’s dancing will more than make up for it.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Asher.

“So now that I have a better idea of exactly what was going on with that conversation I overheard with your roommate…” Blaine raised his eyebrows at Asher. “I hear you’re looking to switch to a more suitable situation?”

Asher nodded. “It’s in process, although they told me it might take a while to find someone else who needs a roommate.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Blaine blinked. “Hey—why don’t _we_ request to be roommates?”

“That’s a great idea!” Kurt exclaimed.

Asher looked aghast. “Wait, what?”

“Sure! This room is bigger than mine, in West Hall. I’m sure I could convince Thad to move over here.”

“No, you can’t—” Asher was shaking his head. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“What? It’s done.” Blaine held up his hands like he’d done a magic trick: _ta-da!_

Kurt looked at Asher, whose face was beet red, but finally he laughed helplessly and nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay!” Blaine beamed. “Well, that was easy. I think dealing with Sebastian will be another matter. But I promise, I’m on your side, and I’m not the only one.”

“Yeah,” Asher said softly. He flashed a smile at Kurt. “I can tell.”

While Blaine went to convince Thad, Kurt helped Asher pack up the rest of his impeccably neat room. He leaned over to murmur, “I know you never would guess it from his appearance, but Blaine is kind of a slob.”

“I don’t care how messy he is.” Asher fastened his school satchel with a snap. “It’s exactly how I felt last year when you walked out of that rehearsal of _Twelve Angry Men_ , Kurt. I didn’t know you, but I knew I could trust you.”

Kurt put an arm around his shoulder. “Watch out. If you’re not careful, he might decide to talk to your dad about sex education.”

“What?”

“A story for another time.”

* * *

The midwinter NYADA mixer was something of a wake-up call, but afterward in her car, Kurt reassured Rachel that she still had a chance to get in.

“Even if Brittany beats you for class president,” he said, “you and Finn are technically the leaders of Glee club. You can put that on your application.”

“They were so good, Kurt,” she sighed. “It was worse this summer at Oberlin. I knew I was a big fish in a small pond, but I think I may have overestimated how big of a fish I really am. I mean… wasn’t it like that for you, at Usdan?”

“It was kind of the opposite. I’ve never had a starring role before. After a season singing backup with the Warblers, it was refreshing to have a real actor tell me I’m star quality.” He shook his head. “But there’s so much more about theater I’ve come to love.”

“More than performing?” She looked at him in confusion. “Like what?”

“Costuming, for one. I loved working on designs for _Rocky Horror._ And Asher and I spent hours on script analysis, taking it apart piece by piece. There’s so much more I have to learn about the craft of acting… Bryce knew so much, and I know he’s not the only one.” He gave Rachel a secret smile. “I wrote a play, Rach, and I submitted it to NYADA’s Young Playwright contest. Mrs. Wright said it was good.”

“That’s amazing!” She hugged him in delight. “I’m so proud of you, Kurt. _West Side Story_ … it just makes me wish _your_ boyfriend was still around to see what you’ve accomplished.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Kurt said. “I’m pretty sure he never was. He’s still my friend, though. I only wish I knew where he was.”

“Well, you’re doing wonderfully on your own.” Rachel gave him a gracious nod. “I must say, playing Maria opposite Finn’s Tony is an exercise in humility. That must have been something, performing Juliet—rather, _Julian—_ with Puck as Romeo.”

“I will never forget it,” was all he could say.

He had long since washed Noah’s Henley shirt. It now lived in the bottom dresser of his desk, along with the last book of the Ender series, the one Noah had gone on to finish on his own. But the night before his NYADA audition, Kurt took the shirt out and wore it to bed. He even allowed himself to indulge in a rare fantasy of Noah, highlighting all of the most memorable moments of their summer together, only some of which had been on stage. He cried through most of them, but that didn’t make them any less erotic—or less satisfying.

* * *

“Ready?” Kurt asked Finn before the NYADA audition, as they waited for their turn.

“Do I feel ready? No.” Finn gave him a lopsided smile. “But I think I am ready.”

Kurt listened at the door of the auditorium as Finn did the Boatman monologue, followed by “Maria.” After a brief silence, he heard, “Kurt Hummel.”

Carmen Tibideaux, sitting in the audience with a clipboard, gave him a tired smile. “And what will you be performing today, Kurt?”

“Juliet’s monologue from _Romeo & Juliet,_ act IV, scene 3,” he said promptly.

She put her glasses back on and regarded him thoughtfully. “Kurt Hummel? You weren’t in a production of _Romeo & Juliet_ at Usdan this summer, were you?”

He stood very still. “Directed by Bryce Coleman, yes.”

“Hmm.” She waved her hand. “Proceed.”

_I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins,  
_ _That almost freezes up the heat of life:  
_ _I'll call them back again to comfort me:  
_ _Nurse! What should she do here?  
_ _My dismal scene I needs must act alone…_

The dramatic monologue went as well as it ever had, thanks to the many hours of practice he’d done over the summer. The pacing and gestures came almost automatically by this point.

“And your musical number?” She definitely sounded more interested than she had at the beginning of his audition.

He smiled. “‘Not the Boy Next Door’ from the Peter Allen bio-musical _The Boy from Oz."_

In his own mind, it was a nod to Chris’s influence on him, the things Chris had taught him all year about auditions and preparation and the value of playing the role you were given—as well as the importance of learning to step outside and beyond it.

 _My box will always have more than four sides,_ he thought, as he gave Ms. Tibideaux a little bow at the end. _I will never forget that again._

Rachel’s audition, unfortunately, was a disaster. Finn waited anxiously on the other side of the hallway as Kurt cringed, listening through the door as she argued with Carmen Tibideaux. When at last she burst out of the door, Finn was there to hold her while she cried.

“It’s not the only school,” Kurt said, patting her back.

“It’s the only one for me,” she sobbed.

That evening, Kurt sent Chris a text. _I wanted to thank you for encouraging me to audition for so many different schools._

_NYADA didn’t go so well, huh?_

_No, no, actually, I think it went very well. I just see the wisdom of being prepared for all possibilities. You really have helped me, more than anyone._

_It’s always good to get advice from a failure. We’ve had so many opportunities to try again._

Kurt winced. _No callbacks today, hmm?_

_Tomorrow is another day. And, on the bright side, I am once again almost as good a dancer now as I was at age sixteen. Okay, perhaps that’s the partially shaded side._

_You will get better,_ Kurt replied. _Physically, you still have a lot of recovery to do._

Chris didn’t reply. Kurt wasn’t sure if it was because Chris agreed with him or because he was too depressed to respond.

* * *

Rachel had been right about one thing, at least. Kurt was doing wonderfully without a boyfriend. It wasn’t nearly as lonely as he’d expected, being on his own. When he watched all of the actors in _West Side Story,_ performing the scenes he’d coached them on, using the choreography and sets and costumes he’d envisioned, it was almost as though he was part of all of them, together.

He realized after a while that the fact that Noah’s voicemail never proclaimed itself to be full had to mean that somebody was checking it, at least occasionally. Some nights he would read him a poem, or perform a scene from a play he was reading, or sing him a song. He never quite got up the courage to do anything too sexual, though, just in case it was actually someone else listening.

Kurt was accepted into six of the schools for which he auditioned, including NYADA and Juilliard, but he was told it would take another several weeks before he would receive word about scholarships. Without additional funding, there was no way he would be able to afford to go to anything outside of Ohio. Rachel did not get into NYADA with her first audition, but in true Rachel fashion, she begged and pleaded and cajoled until she was given a second opportunity.

“It’s a lot of waiting,” Kurt complained to Asher one evening while visiting Dalton.

“You just fill the time with other things while you wait,” Asher said.

“Easy for you to say, Mr. I-Got-Into-All-The-Schools-I-Applied-For.” Kurt tapped the color-coded chart on the wall above Asher’s desk and made a face. “And I won’t mention Blaine’s Anderson family funded education. He just gets to point and say _that one._ ”

“Yeah, I think it’s probably best not to bring that up.” Asher gazed at Blaine’s significantly messier side of their room. “Um… before he gets back from boxing, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Is it about the Warblers’ choice to sing ELO’s ‘Mr. Blue Sky’ for sectionals? Because I think that’s an inspired decision.”

“No, no, it’s not that.”

There was a long pause, long enough that Kurt sat up straight and faced him across the room.

“What is it?”

Asher inhaled, then laughed. “I don’t quite know how to say this, but… things are happening. With me and Blaine.”

Kurt managed to close his mouth. “You mean… _things.”_

“I mean emotionally. We’re not doing anything about it. Yet.” He cast an appeal at Kurt. “I wanted to ask you how you felt about it first.”

“Are you sure? I mean—how do you know? Are you sure you’re not misunderstanding?”

“I asked myself the same thing for weeks.” Asher knitted his hands together, his face flushed. “He finally had to tell me point blank how he felt about me, and even then I spent several days trying to talk him out of it.”

Kurt gestured emphatically, as Asher laughed. “Well? How _does_ he feel about you?”

“He—he says he likes me. A lot. And we agreed we both find one another attractive. Which is not to say—I mean, it might still not work out.”

“And you’re just… what, waiting for my blessing?”

He held out his hands. “We didn’t want it to be weird for you.”

Kurt grabbed them. “So what about how it is for _me?_ This is for you!” He hugged Asher, and Asher hugged him back. It was almost painfully sweet how careful he was being. “I’m just shocked you got him to wait for anything. Blaine’s not really one to hold back.”

“I have noticed that,” Asher agreed. “I think he might be trying extra hard to be patient, for me.”

“Well, I think you get to give him all the green lights you feel comfortable giving. And be safe.” Kurt grinned as Asher covered his face. “Wow, this is potentially ideal. The two of you are roommates, after all.”

Asher let out a heavy sigh. “I have noticed that, too. That was one of the first things we talked about, actually: Blaine’s very earnest agreement not to be embarrassed if we caught one another masturbating.”

“He didn’t.” Kurt groaned into his hands as Asher nodded. “That really does sound like something he would say. So… would you rather I go now, so the two of you can talk when he gets back?”

“That might be best.” Asher’s face was alight with anticipation. “He does tend to be a little worked up after boxing.”

Kurt hugged him again before slipping into the hallway and down the back staircase to the parking lot. He was relieved not to run into Blaine. But when he got to the Navigator and climbed into the front seat, he found himself surprisingly close to tears.

 _Why would something that makes me happy also make me feel so sad?_ he asked Chris.

 _Because you’ve been avoiding feeling anything for a long time,_ Chris responded, _and now all the feelings are mixed up._

He locked all the doors and huddled into the cradle of the seat, letting himself cry, thankful once again for the tinted windows. 

_Why would I be avoiding feelings?_ he asked, once he’d wiped his eyes.

_Honey, you know the answer to that._

He sniffed. _I thought I was moving on._

_Maybe in some ways. Why aren’t you dating anybody?_

_Why aren’t you?_ he asked, almost automatically. Then he sat staring at the phone, aghast, as he realized what Chris’s answer must be.

“Oh my god,” he whispered.

 _Chris,_ he started to type, but then he deleted it. There were too many things he needed to ask, and he didn’t want to ask any of them over text.

 _I have a surprise for you,_ Chris told him, as Kurt sat there with his realization. _You’re going to like it. I want to tell you before you go find Puck, so you can tell him about it, too. It’s kind of a lot of information, though, so let me know when you’ve got something to write on._

 _What is this about?_ Kurt typed slowly.

_It’s about Bryce. And about Puck’s dad, and about me. And about Usdan._

They were all things that were important to him, but at the moment, all he could think about was _before you go find Puck._

 _Where is Puck?_ he had to ask.

_I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I have some guesses. And I bet, if you tell Puck’s mom what I’m about to tell you, she’ll tell you where Puck is._

_I’m on my way home from Dalton,_ Kurt said, starting the car. _I’ll call you when I get home. And you get to be the first to hear that Blaine and Asher are dating._

 _I totally saw that coming weeks ago,_ Chris replied. _Good for them._

It was an especially long drive home. Kurt took Asher’s advice and filled the time with something else, namely the soundtrack to the Broadway revival of _Anything Goes._

_The more I travel across the gravel  
_ _The more I sail the sea  
_ _The more I feel convinced to the fact  
_ _New York's the town for me_

_Its crazy skyline is right in my line  
_ _And when I'm far away  
_ _I'm able to bear it for several hours  
_ _Then I break down and say:_

_Take me back to Manhattan  
_ _Take me back to New York  
_ _I'm just longing to see once more  
_ _My little home on the hundredth floor…_

It felt like something he could hold in his sights, something that really was _moving on,_ that had nothing to do with Noah or any of the myriad things Noah had come to mean to him. New York was somewhere else, and the best way to move on was to move away, no matter where Noah ended up.

But as he drove, something occurred to him. He paused the music, then dialed the number for the Dayton Opera House. Sure enough, the box office was still open.

 _“How can I help you?”_ asked the receptionist.

“I know auditions for _Amadeus_ were last month,” he said. “When is the performance?”

 _“December first through the fourth,”_ she replied, _“with two performances on Saturday and a Sunday matinee.”_

“Great,” he said casually. “And can you remind me who’s playing Wolfgang?”

_“We’re just printing up the posters now, so it hasn’t been formally announced, but it’s Taylor Oppel.”_

“Wonderful.” Kurt felt the bitter disappointment rise, but then something prompted him to add, “And what about Salieri?”

_“That would be Noah Puckerman.”_

His heart stopped in his chest. “Thank you,” he managed, and hung up, gripping the steering wheel. It was all he could do not to turn the car west and drive to Dayton right then and there, but he maintained his course northwest on highway 33 toward home.

 _You really thought you were moving on?_ he thought, and shook his head in disgust. _God. You really are deluding yourself._

Upon arriving home, Kurt parked the car, came inside, kissed his dad, said “I’ll be in my room,” and escaped before anyone could say anything to him. He got a notebook and a pen from his desk. Then he took a deep breath and called Chris.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m ready. Tell me everything.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter is still pretty angsty. One more regular chapter, then a 15k epilogue, and that's all, folks. -amy

Kurt didn’t bother to call the Puckerman house the next day. He drove by and, seeing Ruth’s car in the driveway, parked and knocked on the side door. She looked, if not pleased to see him, willing to let him in.

“Here to watch some more videos?”

“No.” He held up the envelope containing the printouts of the papers Chris had emailed to him. “I have news. About Bryce’s will.”

That was enough to forestall any further conversation. She led him into the kitchen and paused at the stove to stir the pot that was cooking, turn down the heat, and put a cover on it.

As Ruth took a seat at the kitchen table, Kurt sat next to her, sliding the papers out of the envelope. He knew by now she hated small talk, and he didn’t force her to sit through any.

“Just so you know, I didn’t figure all this stuff out. It was Bryce’s summer intern, Chris Janssen, who found all of Bryce’s papers after he died, with the help of Bryce’s housekeeper, and took it upon himself to puzzle it out. He’s kind of stuck in New York with no transportation, so I said I would help get the information to you.”

Ruth nodded, her face impassive.

“When Bryce found out he was sick, he established a living trust. This meant a judge wouldn’t have to get involved in distributing his assets after he died; it would just go to the successor trustee to manage it and hand out the benefits to the people and organizations he named to receive them. The successor trustee he named happens to be you.”

“Me?”

“You’re his oldest living relative.” He handed her the top piece of paper. “This is the list of beneficiaries. All the other papers are for the estate planning attorney. Bryce hired one in New York, but there is no provision for a local attorney.”

“Okay.” Ruth was already looking over the papers. When her eyes landed on the name _Noah Puckerman_ and the amount listed beside it, they widened. “For fuck’s sake.”

“The money is to be used for college,” Kurt said quickly. “That’s stated in his will, a copy of which is also included here. If Noah doesn’t end up going to school, it reverts to the last beneficiary. There’s a similar amount for Sarah and… for Beth.”

Ruth had nothing to say to that, but she looked a little less angry and a little more confused after he said Beth’s name.

“The last beneficiary,” Kurt went on, “and by far the most substantial, is Usdan. The trust specifies these funds be allocated to three separate foundations. The first supplies money to expand funding for the scholarship program at Usdan, extending it to Bryce’s previously informal theater internship program for new high school graduates. The second establishes a salaried full-time position to manage and administer the internships and scholarships. And the third pays for the position he had been volunteering to do for the last nineteen summers: directing the two plays at Usdan.”

Ruth chuckled. “Sneaky bastard. He knew nobody would be able to keep doing this stuff without money, so he found a way to keep paying for it himself.”

“Honestly, it seems like a pretty good plan to me.”

“But this doesn’t make sense.” Ruth shook her head. “If Bryce hired an attorney, why didn’t they just contact me directly?”

“Well… they did.” Kurt pushed the papers to the center of the table. “Or at least they attempted to. Multiple attempts to deliver certified mail were made last year, and every time, they were turned away, _no authorized recipient._ According to the records uncovered by Chris, six different forms were left in your mailbox notifying you of the attempt.”

Ruth went pale. “Shit.”

“I would guess those were discarded when the house was cleaned.”

She fidgeted in her seat, but eventually nodded. “Yeah. Probably.”

“Anyway. Chris was able to uncover everything necessary to move forward, except for one thing: Noah’s whereabouts.” He gazed at her. “Unless you already know where he is.”

Slowly, she shook her head. “Not exactly. Not enough to help. But Aaron does.”

“I thought he might.” Kurt decided not to say anything about Noah’s upcoming role of Salieri in _Amadeus._ “But no matter if he’s willing to talk to me or not, you have to be the one to handle arranging the disbursement, because you’re the named trustee.”

“Yeah. I’ll take care of it.” When Kurt clearly looked dubious, she sighed loudly. “I mean it, all right? I’m doing a lot better keeping track of everything.”

He agreed, but he figured it wasn’t his place to say that. “Chris gave me the phone number and email of the attorney in New York. They’re on the back of the envelope.” He stood up. “Noah was amazing at Bryce’s memorial.”

“Yeah, well… you didn’t see him puking his guts out the night before.”

Kurt was just about at the end of his patience. “Look, I know you have no respect for performers, and I guess I can understand why. But this is Noah’s gift. You need to allow him to _use it._ ”

“No, I need to ensure he has enough other skills to survive,” she snapped back, “in case he has a fucking stroke and can’t pay the bills with his precious _gift._ And don’t tell me that would never happen to Noah.” She stabbed the table with her finger. “This is the _real_ job of a parent. It has nothing to do with unconditional love or support. It’s to make sure he can make enough money to afford his own goddamn therapy.”

Kurt shook his head, feeling the anger subside into despair. “Why can’t it be both of those things? Why can’t it?”

Her face was stony. “I get it. You’re eighteen; you think adults have enough capacity to do all the things we want to do. Well, you’re wrong. Some days we can barely get out of bed in the morning and take our medication. You think I feel good that he got to sixteen and ended up in juvie?”

“I’m just pissed you seem to have missed all the other incredible things he did before and since then.” He turned toward the door, fuming.

“Kurt.” She made a pained noise. “Wait.”

Ruth stood and walked past him, turning left into the room that had been Sarah and Noah’s. She returned with a canvas bag full of DVDs.

“These are the things he watches when he needs some comfort,” she said. “Maybe you can find a way to get them to him.”

He nodded, taking the bag. “I’ll try.”

“And if you see him, tell him… I really do want him to be happy.” She gestured at Kurt, a little defeated throw-away motion. “And there’s only one thing that makes him happy.”

“I know. Performing. He told me.”

She gave him a scornful look. “No, Kurt. _You.”_

They stood there staring at one another until Kurt recovered enough wherewithal to walk out the door and down the steps. He didn’t quite make it to the car before he started crying, but at least no one was around to see him do it.

* * *

The next day at school, Kurt brought his lunch to Mrs. Wright’s classroom and waited there until she returned from her own lunch break. She smiled at him, looking curious.

“How can I help you, Kurt?”

“Noah is performing Salieri in the Dayton Opera House production of _Amadeus.”_

He guessed her surprise was genuine, although of course she was an actor too. “Is that right?”

“I think that means he either dropped out of school and is working at the opera house full time, or he’s in school somewhere within driving distance of Dayton. The conversation I had with Ms. Pillsbury about Noah’s improved grades and test scores would indicate the latter.” He set his lunch down on the table beside her desk, and she gestured for him to sit. “I believe I’ve eliminated the possibility of the military.”

“Well, thank goodness for that.” She watched him unpack his spinach-feta wrap. “You’re quite the detective.”

“I’m not the only one.” He provided her with a summary of Chris’s discoveries regarding Bryce’s estate as her eyes got wider and wider. “So after a conversation with his mother, I’m about to embark on a full-scale investigation of every school in the Dayton metro area. Which I really don’t have time to do, seeing as how I did not drop AP Calculus like I should have.” He sighed. “So I’m hoping you will just tell me where he is and save me the trouble.”

“What makes you think I would have any idea where Noah is?”

“Because you and Mrs. Pillsbury and probably Mr. Tracy helped him with school. If he transferred to another school, you would know what it was.”

She looked somewhat exasperated, but she said, “All right.”

“Really?” He straightened up, watching her closely. “You’ll tell me?”

“Noah _enrolled,_ ” she stressed, “in the Baldwin School for the Arts in Dayton. He needed to be permanently living with his legal parent in Dayton for six months in order to attend, so Noah transferred his residence from Lima to Dayton in March. This meant he was not legally allowed to continue attending McKinley, which he did.” She looked hard at him. “If anyone should investigate this further, Noah might not be able to graduate this year. Do you understand?”

Kurt gulped. “Yes—of course.”

“Baldwin is a magnet school with a focus on performing arts. Noah’s grades were not sufficient for him to be admitted to the performing arts component without a special ed certification. Which, certainly, I would _never_ disclose to a student, because that would be illegal.” She made a finalizing gesture. “I have nothing more to say.”

“Thank you.” He got to his feet, gathering up the remainder of his lunch, and hurried out.

By the end of math class, behind the cover of his notebook, Kurt had looked up Baldwin’s web site and read the details about its program. He took math notes on autopilot, imagining what it might be like there, and how Noah was doing.

 _He’s not going to be happy to see you,_ the voice inside whispered to him, but he ignored it.

After school, he got on the road and made the drive to Dayton, taking the exit that led to Aaron Puckerman’s house. When no one answered the door, he returned to his car and moved it far enough down the block that it wasn’t obvious, but remained within sight of both the front and side doors.

It took twenty minutes for Noah to appear, walking through the backyard, and to unlock the side door with his key. With a racing heart, Kurt got out of the car and hurried over to the house.

“Noah,” he called.

Noah turned around like he’d been goosed. When he saw Kurt, he groaned and went into the house. Kurt followed him.

“What part of _don’t contact me_ do you not understand?” he muttered, discarding his hat and jacket in a heap on the floor.

Kurt set the bag of DVDs in the hallway. “Noah, it’s not what you think. This isn’t about—us.”

Noah wheeled around to face him. “Yes, it is! It’s _always_ about us, Kurt. It can’t help but _be_ about us, because every time I see you, all I can think about is how I feel about you.”

Kurt came to a halt at the other end of the hall. “And?”

“And I can’t deal with it, okay? How many times do I have to tell you this?”

“Okay,” said Kurt, holding up both hands, “okay, I’m _really_ not here to try to get you to do anything other than what you’re doing. Because I think it’s great. And—” He sighed. “I promise, after this, I won’t come looking for you again.”

Noah furrowed his brow, more in what looked like pain than in anger.

“Kurt,” he said, his voice breaking.

“Just listen. Your mother is going to call you. You _have_ to pick up the phone. Bryce left you… a lot of money in his will for college.” Noah’s eyes flew open, and Kurt nodded. “Enough to pay for wherever you want to go. If you don’t use it in—I forget how many years, it reverts to the Usdan scholarship fund. Okay?”

Noah nodded. After a long pause, he narrowed his eyes at Kurt. “And?”

“That’s all. I didn’t want you to miss out on something this important because of a stupid miscommunication.” He laughed helplessly. “I mean, our whole lives don’t have to be _Romeo & Juliet, _right?”

Noah snorted. “And who exactly is Balthazar in this?”

“I think it was originally your mom, but then it ended up being Chris.” Even in the midst of their argument, Kurt drank in the sight of Noah, standing so close, every detail of him. “He’s the one who found all the papers at Bryce’s house and realized what he’d provided for you. I’ll let your mom tell you the rest. How’s Baldwin?”

Now he scowled. “Who told you where I was?”

“I mostly figured it out on my own.” Kurt took a step forward as Noah moved to the side. “Congratulations on getting Salieri.”

“Thanks,” he said, with clear reluctance. “That’s a part I never banked on. Figured I’d rate the whimsical genius, not the frustrated artist.”

Noah wasn’t moving out of the hallway. When Kurt leaned on the door, he relaxed his stance a little. “What classes are you taking?”

“Mostly voice and dancing. I’ve been coached to work on my weak areas.”

“Smart,” Kurt nodded. “I hear you convinced them to let you in. What sold them on you?” When he hesitated, Kurt added, “In return, I’ll tell you what school I decided on.”

“I can find that out from someone else.”

“I haven’t told anybody else yet. Not even my dad.”

Noah chewed his lip for another few moments before sitting on the bench to untie his boots. Kurt unbuttoned his coat, hoping Noah wouldn’t stop him, but he didn’t say anything.

“You realized at some point that I wasn’t spelling things wrong anymore in our texts. It wasn’t because I suddenly got better at spelling, but because I got my phone to read and write for me without dealing with typing the stupid words. I just said things and it typed them for me, and it read all the typed things aloud, and—wham, I did better.” Noah dropped his boot and started on the other one. “So I dictated a play.”

“A—a play?” Kurt was taken aback. “Really?”

“A one-man play, about my own life. It’s kind of crap, lots of fucking drama and yelling and shit. Anyway, you asked me what got me a second look, and it sure as hell wasn’t my grades, so it was probably that.”

“Or maybe it was that your great-uncle was Bryce Coleman.”

Noah didn’t take the bait, or possibly he agreed with Kurt. He just shrugged. “So where are you going?”

“NYADA,” he said. “I got into Juilliard, too, but that costs more, and I still haven’t written off the possibility of doing musical theater. It’s a better choice.”

Noah looked up at him and actually smiled. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Your mom told me to bring your DVDs to you. They’re in that bag in the hallway.” He took a breath. “She also wanted me to tell you she wants you to be happy.”

Noah’s smile slid away. “Really.”

“And so do I. I feel—”

“You _feel.”_ Noah sneered, cutting him off. “What good is that? Kurt, why did you let Blaine talk you into staying together last year? Because you don't trust your feelings. You didn't trust that what _you_ felt was good enough. Well, Kurt, if that's true, why should I trust your feelings, either?”

“Noah,” he protested.

“You're holding out for something instead of nothing.” Now his smile was more like a grimace. “I can't really blame you for that. He's got a fucking ripping bod.”

“Stop,” Kurt pleaded. “We’re not together. I broke up with him, for real.”

“For real.” He nodded without expression. “That’s good, Kurt. Now you can move on.”

“I’m trying. Believe me, I thought I was.” Kurt clutched his coat to his chest. “But it turns out I was only fooling myself.” He gestured to the house. “And what about you? Don’t tell me you’re going to stay here, in Dayton?”

“Somebody has to help my dad take care of the opera house. What, you think Felix is going to stick around forever?”

“But that’s not what you _want._ You always told me you hated the idea of ending up like your dad.”

Noah gritted his teeth, his voice rising to a shout. “I hate everything, okay? I hate school, I hate this fucking town. I hate how I feel when I look at you!”

Kurt felt the tears come, hot and too fast to stop. The words he spat back came out the same way. “You think everything’s going to come to an end if you just stop and enjoy what you have for one moment. Your mother said I make you _happy._ That I’m the only thing that does. It’s probably just as well you wouldn’t want to rely on a relationship like that. It would be too much to risk losing. And instead, you just throw it away, like one of your fucking one-liners. So, okay, you get to be talented, Noah, and smart, and you get to be _right,_ just like you always wanted. But you won’t let yourself be happy. Well, I’m done watching you sabotage yourself. Enjoy your tragedy.”

Kurt wrapped himself up in his coat, along with his dignity, and left.

On the way home, he had to stop several times along the highway and pull over to the side of the road to cry. It was very inconvenient, and that combined with rush hour meant he didn’t get home until after eight. He received several texts, but he ignored them all.

Finn watched him stalk through the door. “There’s a big envelope from NYADA on your bed.”

“I honestly don’t care at the moment,” Kurt informed him, descending the stairs to the basement. He picked up the envelope, threw it on the floor and lay back onto the bed, glaring at everything.

Finn arrived a calculated number of minutes later. He sat on the side of Kurt’s bed.

“You want me to open it?”

“Not right now.” Kurt rolled to his side and wiped his eyes on his pillowcase.

“You want to tell me what happened, or am I going to have to guess?”

“You’re starting to sound like my dad.”

“He’s kind of great at this sort of thing, so I think that’s a win.” Finn touched Kurt’s ankle.

“I saw Puck. He’s at a school in Dayton.”

“Yeah?” Finn sounded not at all surprised.

Kurt shot him an outraged look, but it fizzled in seconds. “Did everybody know where he was except me?”

“Not everybody. You, and all the people who would have told you, they didn’t know.”

“Even after months apart, I couldn’t even get through a single conversation with him without it ending in name-calling. I should have just… moved on.”

“But you couldn’t.”

Kurt closed his swollen eyes. “But I couldn’t.”

Finn sighed. “Do you remember, when we did _Rocky Horror,_ how Janet wanders around Frank’s laboratory, saying all of the if-onlys? _If only the car hadn’t broken down.”_ He recited the line in a terrible falsetto. _“If only we hadn’t come to this place. If only we were among friends, or sane persons._ ” He switched back to his regular voice. _“_ Except that’s not how it went. Bad shit happened, things went south, the end.”

Kurt let out a little useless sob. “Tragedy.”

Finn moved his hand to his shoulder. “Only that’s not how things end in real life. Right? Even in _Rocky Horror,_ after the house blasts off into outer space and leaves behind chaos and mayhem, that wasn’t the end either. There was a sequel.”

He sniffed. “There was?”

“I only know because Rachel made me watch it. It was terrible, don’t bother. I’m trying to say: you get to keep going. The ending is way, way far away. Who knows what might happen before then?” Finn smiled gently. “I’m still rooting for your happy ending, Kurt. With or without Puck.”

Kurt sat up. “That’s kind of what Asher said, too. That maybe, while I’m waiting to get to the end, I could just… do some other things. You know, to pass the time.”

Finn chuckled. “Maybe open this envelope, anyway.”

He handed it to Kurt, who fished his handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose before ripping open the flap and sliding out the packet of papers inside. He skimmed the cover page and let out a squeak.

“Mr. Kurt Hummel,” he read, with mounting excitement, “we want to congratulate you on the selection of your dramatic manuscript for the final round of judging. All final round manuscripts will be published in the New York Academy for the Dramatic Arts’ annual anthology of student work. In addition, all student writers will receive a tuition stipend in the amount of—oh my god.”

Finn took the packet from his hand, skimming to where Kurt stopped. He whistled. “That’ll take care of a big chunk of your first year. And look, if it ends up winning the contest, that’s an additional _ten thousand.”_ He looked amazed. “I had no idea you could make that much money by writing things.” 

“Well, that decides it. I’m going to NYADA.” He smiled at Finn. “What about you?”

Finn shook his head. “I’m still not sure if I think it’s worth the money, to be honest. Sure, I’m kind of stoked they think I’m good enough, but do I really want to spend that much money just to learn how to act better? That’s your dream, but it’s not mine. I’m still figuring out what mine is.”

“That’s okay.” Kurt reached out and gave him the tightest hug he could manage. Finn hugged him back. “Just… if you get a sudden yen to—to join the Army or something, at least give me a heads up.”

Finn laughed. “You’ll be the first to know.”

Kurt washed his face and gave his face in the mirror a stern talking to. He ate the dinner Carole had saved for him. Then he called Chris.

“I did what you asked,” he said. “I showed Puck’s mom the paperwork and told her what you told me. Then I made sure Puck wouldn’t ignore her phone call. Well, I suppose he could still choose to ignore it, but I don’t think he will.”

Chris sounded impressed. _“Do I want to know how you did that?”_

“I went to his dad’s house and waited for him to come home from school. He’s attending an arts magnet school in Dayton.”

He whistled. _“I’m legitimately impressed with Puck. How did that conversation go?”_

“About how you might imagine it would.”

_“Yeah. I’m sorry, Kurt. I won’t say I-told-you-so about how things were going to turn out with him. You know I would have gone after him myself, if he’d’ve let me.”_

Kurt willed himself not to start crying again. “So I have two questions. Are you in a good place to talk?”

_“Hey, you’ve seen Oliver’s house. I could walk for miles and not see another person. Ask away.”_

He walked halfway down the steps to the basement and sat on the stair. “All right. You said, when you told me about Bryce’s living trust, that it was about Bryce and Usdan. I understand those parts. You also said it was about Puck’s dad, and about you. But neither of you were named in the trust.”

_“I’d think it would be obvious? Puck’s dad should take over for Bryce at Usdan in the summer.”_

“I hope he does. And you…?”

_“I’m going to apply for the internship manager position.”_

“But…” Kurt shook his head, wondering if he’d misheard him. “But that’s not what you want to do.”

_“Why not? I’m good at organizing information. I essentially did the job for free this year. And I love Usdan.”_

He wanted to reach through the phone, grab Chris’s shoulders, and shake him. “Chris, you’re a performer. A really good one.”

_“I need to step back from performing. Get some perspective.”_

He leaned his head on the wall. “Look, I don’t know if this is some kind of—of post traumatic whatever, or you’re getting cold feet about the realities of New York theater, but rChris, nobody should be on the stage more than you.” He gritted his teeth. “God. Both you and Puck. It is a sorry world indeed when _Finn_ has the best self-esteem of all of us.”

He heard Chris sigh. _“Kurt, you know I’m a bit of a control freak about… well, everything…”_

“Yes, and I can’t believe you would just give up on all the things you worked for because you think you need some _perspective!”_

There was a long pause. _“No, you’re right. That’s my mom talking.”_

“And you’re listening?”

_“She makes a solid case.”_

Kurt narrowed his eyes. “Meaning what?”

_“Meaning, they offered to pay for college if I don’t go into performance. So—Kurt, hear me out—I do this job for a year while I apply to other programs. I make some money, but I also stay in the industry, maybe do theater in the evenings. I mean, I’d probably end up in business analytics like my dad. What’s wrong with that?”_

“Nothing.” Kurt rested his forehead in his hand. “Nothing’s wrong with it, but… tell me, how much of your life would you waste, waiting for those three or four hours a week when you’d get to rehearse? For _community theater?”_

_“How much of my time is spent waiting now, for callbacks I’m not going to get? I’m not in the same place I was six months ago, Kurt. I can’t do the things I could do then, and I don’t have the money to pay for studio time to get back to where I was. What if I just skipped college and got a job working for a small-town theater?”_

“Chris.”

He heard him sigh. _“Yeah.”_

“Tell me you honestly want to grow up to be Noah Puckerman’s father? Because I bet if you talked to Aaron, even _he_ wouldn’t advise you to do that.”

Chris paused. _“You think I hadn’t thought about that? Well… okay, you might be right, I hadn’t. And yikes, that does sound pretty terrible.”_

“You helped me so much this year, Chris. I want to help you. We can brainstorm ideas together about next year. I mean, you haven’t even attempted to sell out yet.”

 _“Commercials?”_ Chris gasped as Kurt giggled. _“I am aghast.”_

“See, you can’t even conduct a regular phone conversation without being theatrical. It’s part of who you are. You might as well embrace it.”

_“Thanks for the pep talk, Kurt. We’ll ballpark this and consider my options, and then we’ll circle back to—”_

“God, stop! You really want to have a job where you have to _actually say_ those things?”

 _“—sharpen our pencils and think outside the box.”_ He was laughing now. _“I’ve got a million of them. What was the second thing?”_

Kurt coughed. “Mmm. This might be enough for today.”

_“No, no, you’re right here on the agenda, let’s see… Kurt Hummel, question number two. Fire away.”_

“Well, I was thinking about what you said about moving on, and why I’m not dating anybody, and then I asked you why _you_ aren’t dating anybody, and…” He took a deep breath. “I was wondering when you were planning to tell me you’re in love with me.”

 _“Oh. That?”_ Chris chuckled nervously. _“I think the answer was meant to be ‘never.’ Obviously that plan has been foiled.”_

“You could have talked to me.”

_“Who would that have helped? I already knew you didn’t feel that way about me, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to be Blaine and convince you to go out with me anyway. I know I talk a good game about no strings, but that doesn’t mean I use my friends. Let me just maintain a shred of my self-respect, okay?”_

“Okay,” Kurt agreed, after a moment. “I don’t really know what else to say.”

_“You’d better get used to saying thanks-but-no-thanks, because Kurt, you are a keeper. Especially if you’re still bent on holding out for our friend Mr. Closet Case.”_

He sighed. “I’m, um. I’m working on that.”

_“Well, I’m willing to let you convince me to tell my mother to go to hell. Call me tomorrow. We’ll touch base, focus on the big picture, and get down to business.”_

Kurt tucked his phone into his pocket and trudged back upstairs. Carole was watching the football game with his dad, but when she saw the expression on his face, she stood up and wandered over.

“You okay, Kurt?”

“I just… had a lot of hard conversations today.” He tried smiling. “Tell me, what do you think makes one person mean so much more to you than another person?”

She appeared to give the question honest consideration. “Well… I suppose it’s about what you need at the time you meet them.”

“Noah always said I needed something a little surprising. Something to push me out of my comfort zone.”

“Do you think he was right?”

“He certainly did that for me. Sometimes it was a little further out of that zone than I wanted to go, but… it was never so far that I felt like giving up on him.” He swallowed. “Until now.”

She nodded soberly. “Even though you still love him so much.”

He looked at the floor. “I feel like I failed him.”

“No, honey. You didn’t. You gave him everything you could. Now it’s up to him.” Carole reached out and pulled him into a warm, comforting hug. “He’s figuring it out. You think he can do that?”

Kurt nodded vigorously. “Yes, I really do.”

“Well, that counts for a lot.”

He leaned into the warmth of the circle of her arm. “For a while, I thought I was the only person left who believed in him, but I don’t believe that anymore. His dad, and Felix, and Ms. Pillsbury and Mrs. Wright, they’re all on his side. They believe in his dreams. Even his mom does, kind of.”

“And so do your dad and I. That’s a lot of people.” She gave him a signature Hudson half-smile. “Now you have to do the hard work of standing back and not helping. Maybe someday you’ll find a way to tell him _you_ still believe in his dreams, too, even if you aren’t there to fulfill them for him.”

Kurt thought about standing back as he brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas. It wasn’t all that late, but Finn and Michael were out, so he went to bed anyway. His head was full of Noah on the stage, Noah smirking, Noah arguing with him, Noah holding him in his arms. The image of Noah kneeling over him, his back arched and muscles straining, proved too much for him to deal with, and Kurt gave into his body’s demands. After all, he’d been jerking off to thoughts of Noah Puckerman for four years; he couldn’t imagine why he should stop now.

Eventually he opened the bottom drawer of his desk. The folded Henley shirt was inside, but he left it there, and instead dug out his copy of _Ender in Exile_ and read the last third to himself. He could hear the voices he’d always used for the characters in his head, like old friends. He wondered if, when Noah had read it to himself, he’d heard the same voices.

When he was done with the book, he tucked the NYADA Young Playwrights letter into the inside back cover and slid it under his pillow before turning off the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: all the legal advice is based on my own research; I am not a lawyer.
> 
> Part of Kurt’s argument with Ruth was borrowed from Tina’s conversation with Mike’s dad in episode 3x03 Asian F.
> 
> Finn’s speech (and most of this story) was based on this quote from Orson Welles’ The Big Brass Ring: “If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.” 
> 
> -amy


	25. Chapter 25

_**May 2012** _

It took Kurt months to drive by the Puckerman house again. The day he did, he noticed two cars in the driveway. _Ruth’s boyfriend?_ Kurt wondered—until he saw the Dayton Opera House decal in the back window of the second car.

He parked in the street, feeling his heart pound. Then he climbed out of the car, walked to the side door of the house, and knocked.

Sarah came to answer it. “Hi!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him inside to the music room. “You get to meet Jake.”

Jake was just as slim and handsome as the snapshot on Aaron’s fridge made him out to be. He set down the guitar he was holding and looked at Sarah.

“This is _Kurt,”_ she said meaningfully.

“Ohhh.” Jake gave him a little wave. “Puck used to talk about you all the time.”

He nodded. “Not so much anymore, huh?”

“Now he’s always doing school stuff.” He made a face. “Or him and Dad are at the opera house.”

“He means Felix,” said Sarah. “We know my dad’s really his dad, but…” She shrugged.

“Families are complicated,” Kurt agreed. “My mom died when I was eight, but when I was a sophomore, he met the mom of another single parent at my school, and they got married. Now I’ve got a stepmom and a stepbrother.”

Jake was still watching him. “You’re gay, right?” 

Kurt nodded, controlling his smile. “What gave it away?”

“You can’t tell by looking at a person,” Sarah informed Jake, but he shook his head.

“No, it was, just… because you and Puck, you were together. Right?”

Kurt nodded again. Jake picked up the guitar and strummed a chord.

“What about you?” Kurt asked.

It felt like a risky question to ask a kid he’d only just met, but Jake only said, “Everybody thinks I am because I like dancing.”

“He’s really good,” Sarah said.

“Liking dancing, or anything else, doesn’t make you gay.”

Jake didn’t say anything in response, but he seemed reassured.

“I saw a video of your mom doing a play,” Kurt went on. “Is she a dancer, too?”

“She was.” They looked up to see Tanisha standing in the hallway, smiling at them. “Not for a lot of years, though. How’s your senior year going, Kurt?”

“Quickly,” he admitted. “Our Glee club won Nationals a few weeks ago. It’s all been very exciting.”

He noticed Jake scowling over his guitar. Tanisha said, “Jake is—”

“I don’t want to talk about Glee club,” Jake said, his voice louder than it needed to be. Nobody seemed surprised by this.

“Why don’t you come into the kitchen, Kurt?” Tanisha said, beckoning him to follow. Sarah looked crestfallen, but she waved goodbye as he went. Tanisha lowered her voice. “Jake feels anxious about the idea of being at a school where he isn’t the only one who can do what he does. I suppose it could be because he’s scared of competition, but I think it’s really because that would mean he would have to talk to people.”

“Being at a school—?” Kurt looked at Tanisha, startled. Ruth looked up from where she was sitting at the kitchen table. “Are you and Felix moving to Lima?”

Ruth sniffed. “No wonder you have questions, after not bothering to visit.”

“It’s his senior year, Ruth,” Tanisha said. “Of course he’s busy.”

“I’m sorry for dropping in,” Kurt began, but Ruth sighed and shook her head.

“I told you, you’re welcome any time.”

“I’m moving to Lima,” Tanisha said. “Me, and Jake.”

“It’s for Jake,” Ruth added. “He and Sarah can be together. Lima’s schools have better test scores. Jake will have the music room.”

Kurt smiled. “You’re moving in _here?”_

“It’ll save money,” Ruth said sharply.

Tanisha reached out and took Ruth’s hand. “It’s… not just to save money,” she told Kurt. “We were always a pretty good team.”

Kurt had to grin at Ruth’s flustered expression. “Felix will stay in Dayton, then?”

Ruth cleared her throat. “Felix and Aaron are moving to New York.” She said _New York_ like it was _the pit of hell._

“Aaron accepted the summer director position at Usdan,” Tanisha went on. “It’ll be his directorial debut, but he thinks he can handle it. And Felix… well, Aaron’s going to encourage him to leap back into a larger pond. Lots of opportunities for a well-connected, experienced actor in New York.”

Tanisha looked pleased about this, so Kurt had to assume it didn’t imply anything bad about their relationship. He looked back and forth from Ruth’s sour face to Tanisha’s placid one. “I’m really happy for all of you.”

“We’ll see,” Ruth muttered. Tanisha patted her arm.

“When do you go to New York, Kurt?”

“At the end of June. My stepbrother’s boyfriend Michael has a loft with friends in Bushwick, and they’re graduating. They’re moving out, and we’re moving right in.”

“Noah is—” she began, but even as Ruth frowned, Kurt held up a hand.

“If you were going to tell me about the upcoming production of _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest_ at the Opera House, I know about that. It’s a little dark for me, but I’ll be there. He was incredible in _Amadeus.”_

“He really was,” Tanisha agreed. “It was like seeing Aaron on the stage all over again.”

“Well, I won’t stay, but thanks for the update.” Kurt stood and pushed his chair in. “Do you have any idea when they’re leaving Dayton?”

As he returned to his car, Kurt wondered, as he often did these days, if he would ever return to this place again. Visiting this house in particular made him feel remarkably melancholy, even though he’d done relatively little to help clean it up. It was Noah’s, and the site of a few of his important firsts. He couldn’t remember the exact dates, though he imagined Noah could. Noah remembered everything.

He waited until he was home to call Felix. Kurt had discovered he was the only one who was likely to take his calls. 

_“Let me get Aaron,”_ Felix said to Kurt. _“How have you been?”_

“Busy, and excited, and terrified, in that order,” Kurt said. “I was wondering why you hadn’t auditioned for _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,_ Felix, until I found out the two of you are moving.”

 _“We decided—the four of us decided—it was time for a change. Now that—well. Dayton’s been good to us, but it’s time to move on.”_ Felix’s rich voice was full of anticipation. _“Tanisha will keep both houses for now, maybe rent or sell them.”_

 _“Two men, one car,”_ intoned Aaron, _“a shit-ton of emotional baggage…”_

Kurt laughed. “Sounds like an adventure.”

 _“Going back to Usdan in many ways feels like giving up, but in other ways like coming home.”_ Aaron sounded in good spirits, too. _“It’ll be a safe place to find out if I can handle directing.”_

“Well, I’ll be there to watch your performances in July. Do you happen to know who was hired to manage the internship program?”

 _“Mrs. Paige said her name was Connie, I think?”_ Felix said. _“Detail-oriented and methodical, which is what that program needs. Something to balance the overload of creative energies of all of those crazy actors.”_

This time Kurt’s laugh stuck in his throat. “Yes. Balance is good. I’m glad they found someone. I thought, maybe…”

It wasn’t Chris. Whatever he had chosen to do, that wasn’t it. Kurt was relieved to hear it, even if Chris had stopped calling him. Regardless of where he was, Kurt was certain Chris was more than resourceful enough to handle his own life.

 _“Kurt, while Noah is at rehearsal,”_ Aaron said, _“I wanted to tell you Noah and I have concluded our therapy with Greg. We have been pronounced as sane and competent as any American family—”_

 _“And,”_ Felix added, _“he’s committed to—”_

 _“And I’m committed to working hard to maintain Noah’s trust,”_ Aaron went on, as though Felix hadn’t spoken.

Kurt smiled at his earnest delivery, but he guessed it was spoken from the heart. “That’s great news, but I’m not quite sure what that has to—”

_“Noah’s also been spending time in therapy on his own to make sense of himself. I’d hate for you to miss out on what he’s discovered.”_

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “That’s up to him. I told him I wasn’t going to bother him anymore.”

 _“You were never a bother,”_ said Felix. _“You were a wake-up call. He wasn’t ready to hear it before. Just—if you don’t think it’s too late, for you, find a way to let him know, okay? And if you want evidence that it’s never too late, just look at us.”_

That optimistic suggestion reminded Kurt of something Carole had said months ago. That night, he called Noah’s voicemail. From his notebook he brought out a poem, one he’d been saving for some time, and unfolded it.

“I’m sure you are busy in production for _Cuckoo’s Nest,_ ” he said into the phone, “so I hope you enjoy this sonnet when you have a moment to yourself. I though I would try a different author this time.”

It had been a while since he’d attempted to declaim the way Bryce had taught him, the way he had on Noah’s seventeenth birthday, and so many times since then. He put all the tools he’d learned to work: the ordered diction, the tension of the pacing, the design of the meter. It was all the components of composition, outlined by George Seurat, made manifest in sixteen lines of text.

“Young Thomas is a longshoreman by trade,  
Whose guild ceased work to fight for wages fair.  
The strike drags on; ’tis weeks since he’s been paid—  
A crawl toward destitution and despair.

But he has been from truest hardship saved;  
His sweetheart Gina’s at an inn employed  
Where, for her love, she works as though enslaved  
So they might still their usurers avoid.

She tells him softly, “We must not despair;  
Despite our prospects grim, we must endure!  
We have our love; ’tis wealth beyond compare,  
Worth all the trials of our fate unsure.

With pray’r alone, we have survived ’til now.  
Pray, take my hand! We’ll triumph soon, I vow!”

He ended the call after the recitation was done, because a poem like that needed no adornment. He had to assume Noah, whom he knew had listened to the _Slippery When Wet_ album countless times since middle school, would be able to figure it out its origin. This was the best way he could imagine to tell Noah he still believed in his dreams.

* * *

_**June 2012** _

“Is it this one?” Asher squinted at his phone in the midday sun. “I can’t read the address.”

“The next building, upstairs,” Kurt called.

“Upstairs,” Asher muttered. He wiped sweat off his forehead with one hand and tucked the keys to the moving van into his pocket with the other. “Of course.”

“Michael and Finn will let you in if you ring the bell.” He smirked. “Assuming they are dressed.”

They were not only dressed, but they were ready with cold drinks.

“The lack of air conditioning isn’t the worst thing about this place,” Michael assured them, “but it appears to be the worst thing in the summer. I did tell you to bring a fan, right?”

Kurt was charmed by the structure of the loft, divided into rooms with crates and bookshelves and the creative use of draperies.

“I can imagine exactly how I might improve this,” he told Michael excitedly. “If you wouldn’t mind…”

Michael laughed. “You go to town, Kurt. I’m pretty sure Finn is accustomed to your style by now, and believe me, I’m used to over-the-top. No one is more of a decorating snob than my mother.”

“He’s not kidding,” Finn agreed. “Scrollwork and velvet for days.”

Asher and Blaine helped them bring in all the furniture and boxes from the moving van before collapsing in the kitchen in front of the big box fan.

Blaine leaned across the table toward Asher. “How about I return the van, and you order food, and I’ll pick it up on my way back?”

“You sure you’re okay finding your way back on the subway?” asked Michael, looking mildly alarmed, as Asher handed Blaine the keys.

“I’ll consider it to be my first challenge in the city.” Blaine planted a kiss on Asher, beamed, and bounced out the door.

“He does not care one bit that it’s ninety degrees,” Kurt said fondly.

Asher shook his head. “There’s definitely something weird about that, but I’m not going to complain if it means he’s willing to return the van. Any recommendations for _cold_ takeout?”

They ended up getting Greek food from Ovelia and eating it out of the packaging, sprawled on the couches and chairs in the compartmentalized sitting area; Kurt thought it was too kind to call it a family room. But he smiled as he looked around at his friends.

“I’m really glad we’re all here,” he said. “Here, in New York, together.”

Blaine looked at Asher, then back at Kurt, shaking his head. “We’re not really _all_ together. Some people are missing.”

“Quinn’s at Yale,” said Finn, “Mike’s in Chicago, the Joffrey, right? You guys are at Juilliard, that’s not far away. Rachel’s—well. She’s working on it.” He shrugged. “I hope they either let her into NYADA or convince her to stop asking before they slap a restraining order on her…”

“You know who I’m talking about,” Blaine protested.

Asher handed Kurt the pitcher of ice water. “What happened between you and Chris, anyway? The last I heard you guys were getting along fine.”

“I wish I knew. He wasn’t sure about his future for a while, and then we just… stopped talking.” Kurt’s hands remained steady while he poured the water. “In some ways that hurt more than when Puck left McKinley without telling me.”

He did have an idea why Chris might have stopped calling, of course, but he wasn’t going to divulge that to the rest of their friends without his permission.

Blaine huffed. “Yes, _Puck._ What happened to him? He didn’t just disappear off the face of the earth. Did he do something terrible and I missed the memo?”

“He doesn’t want Kurt to know anything,” Finn said reluctantly, glancing at him.

Kurt felt the pang of separation. It was less frequent now, but no less sharp. “I’d offer to go out of the room, but I suspect these ‘walls’ aren’t going to afford much privacy.”

“He didn’t do anything terrible. Dude, you know I would have said something if it had been important.”

Kurt took in their uncomfortable faces. “Well, since I’m not supposed to know anything, let _me_ tell you what happened, and you can just deny all the things I get wrong. After establishing residency in the Dayton school district last spring, he moved in with his father, Aaron Puckerman, the formerly celebrated actor, now recovering addict and boyfriend to the delightful actor Felix Abrams. Following—”

“Wait, Puck’s dad is _gay?”_ Finn interrupted.

Kurt gave him a scornful look. “Watch your labels, Finn. I believe he identified himself to me as bisexual. May I continue? Following his great-uncle Bryce Coleman’s sudden passing, he received a sizable inheritance to be used only for college. For his senior year, he applied to and was admitted to the Baldwin School for the Arts in Dayton, where he focused on dance and vocal technique. He also wrote his first play, a one-man performance piece about his own life—”

“I thought he wasn’t supposed to know anything?” Blaine asked in confusion, but Asher shushed him and gestured for Kurt to go on.

“—and performed his first adult lead in a major production. That was Salieri in _Amadeus_ at the Dayton Opera House. Later that spring, he played Randle Patrick McMurphy in _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest._ As Puck’s senior year drew to a close, Felix’s—partner? Wife? I have no idea—Tanisha and her son Jake planned their move to Lima, while Felix and Aaron packed up their car and drove to Long Island.”

“To direct the plays at Usdan!” Asher said, grinning.

“For good, I think.” Kurt nodded as Asher’s grin gave way to surprise. “Yeah. I’m thinking we watch the New York Theater Guide for Felix’s name in upcoming shows, although I’m not sure what Aaron is planning to do in the fall. As for Puck…” He held up his hands. “Unfortunately that’s where my investigation petered out.”

“Do you want to know?” asked Finn. “I mean, really? If he’s moving on, and you’re not part of it—”

“I would love to be the bigger man and say no, I don’t want to know, that he can have his happy ending, and let it fade to credits.” Kurt held up his cup in a toast. “Sadly, I am doomed to be nosy and inquisitive forever. As long as there’s more to know about him, I’m going to want to know.”

“Puck, uh, didn’t go to college.” Finn looked around at everyone, still looking nervous. “He applied for one of those internship thingies at your summer camp. He’s living in New York City. With, um. With Chris.”

Kurt found himself staring, and closed his mouth. “And from whom did you hear this?”

“From me,” said Michael. “And I heard it from Puck, when I ran into them both at Ginger’s at karaoke last week.”

“Oh.” The word came out breathy, like it had been forced out of his gut. “Well. Good for them.” He picked up a napkin and began methodically wiping the honey from the loukoumades from his fingers. “No, I mean it. Things with him and Chris were always simpler. Maybe he can give him something I couldn’t.”

“They might just be roommates,” Blaine said.

Before Michael could confirm or deny this, Kurt laughed and shook his head. “That’s… not how it is between them. You get them in a room together, there will be sex.” He raised his eyebrow at all four of them. “Come on, don’t tell me _you_ don’t understand this.”

They each looked at their boyfriends and laughed awkwardly. Kurt laughed with them.

While they cleaned up and said goodnight to Blaine and Asher, Kurt thought about the concept of Noah and Chris living together several times. Each time, it felt a little less jarring. After all, they’d been together before, hadn’t they? He climbed out of the shower deciding it really would be okay.

He experienced a brief moment of sadness while, as he unpacked his things, he came across the framed third place certificate for his Young Playwrights submission. There was a copy of the certificate in an envelope, along with a copy of the play, waiting for him to give to Noah someday. It was entirely possible now that _someday_ might happen while grocery shopping down the block, or going to the movies, or walking along the street in Bushwick. Somehow this made him cry. Maybe it was knowing he wasn’t going to be the one doing any of those things with Noah, and watching him doing them with someone else, even someone he cared about, wasn’t going to be easy. He hung the certificate above his bed anyway.

There was a knock on the crate that defined the doorway to his room. Kurt smiled and said, “Come in?”

Finn pushed the curtain aside. “I guess we’ll have to figure out what it means to be living in one big room. You and me, we’re kind of used to it, huh?”

“I’ll get noise-cancelling headphones,” Kurt assured him. He presented the room to Finn. “What do you think?”

“Looks like you,” Finn said, nodding in approval. “Look, I wanted to apologize for not telling you about Puck.”

“You really don’t need to. No, really, Puck specifically said, more than once, _stay out of my life,_ and you were going along with that. That just makes you a good friend.” He sat down on his bed, crossing his legs, and made room for Finn to sit beside him. “I was kind of proud of how many people ended up on Puck’s side.”

“Well, after starting out as a screw-up, he turned out to be a pretty honorable guy.” Finn nudged his knee. “You’re totally the one who reformed him, you know?”

“No,” said Kurt. “Puck did that himself.”

“Anyway, now that you know, there’s no reason I can’t give you this.” Kurt watched warily as Finn took his phone out of his pocket. After a moment, Kurt’s phone chirped with a text. “He gave it to Michael at karaoke and asked me to pass it on to you. Said you’d recognize the author?”

Kurt licked his lips, staring at the voice recording. “Did you… listen to it?”

“I did, but it was just a sonnet. You know how Puck does Shakespeare. Sounds like it was funny, even if I didn’t get it.” Finn shrugged. “That’s one of those things I would have learned at NYADA, I guess.”

“Do you ever regret not choosing to go?”

“Nah. I don’t mind just having a regular job for a while. I’m guessing you guys are going to be pretty tired this fall, based on how Michael said his first year was, so I figured one of my jobs would be to help feed you guys. If you can tolerate my cooking.” Finn paused. “… And you probably want to listen to that message now. Good night, Kurt.”

Kurt made a vague farewell gesture at the doorway, then greedily pressed play.

The sound was muffled at first, but Kurt decided that was deliberate as he could hear Noah attempting to stop laughing. _“Holy shit, I’m never going to get through this—okay, okay, I’ll try again. Take seven.”_ He cleared his throat. It was something Kurt had been taught never to do before public speaking, so he guessed Noah must have done it for effect.

And then, in the fruitiest, most stereotypical highfaluting British accent Kurt had ever heard, Noah began to recite a sonnet. Kurt was so astonished by the overblown style that he barely paid attention to the words until Noah got to the last couplet.

“No,” Kurt muttered, with a growing smile.

He scrubbed back to the beginning and played it again, and this time, he could hear what it was, and he laughed out loud. _No wonder it took him seven takes._

_“I found my way into the market square  
_ _To drink in deep the festival’s delights.  
_ _I suffered the misfortune of you there,  
_ _Like I had borne through all our troubled nights._

_So recently we’d broken bonds of love,  
_ _I doubted you had sooner still forgot;  
_ _Yet still your jealous ire rose hot above  
_ _When passions in another had grown hot._

_Yes, I am in his gaze, and he in mine,  
_ _But your eyes somewhere else should swiftly start—  
_ _For three long years, I left myself to pine  
_ _For matrimony’s gifts to grace my heart._

_If truly you did wish to win my hand,  
_ _You should have graced it with a wedding band.”_

There was a pause at the end, and then Noah’s regular voice, closer to the mic: _“Your dream, babe. You gave me mine, I figure I should give you yours. Don’t let anybody tell you you can’t have it. Okay?”_

“Okay,” Kurt whispered, still smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you aren’t already familiar with the magnificent Popsonnets in this chapter, they are written by Erik Didriksen and can be found at <https://popsonnet.tumblr.com/> as well as [in book form.](https://www.quirkbooks.com/book/pop-sonnets) You will forgive the time slip; neither sonnet was written at the time this story is set, but let’s pretend they were. The one Kurt recited for Noah was inspired by [“Livin’ on a Prayer” by Bon Jovi](http://popsonnet.tumblr.com/post/94755393000/livin-on-a-prayer), and the one Noah recited in return was inspired by [“Single Ladies” by Beyoncé Knowles](https://popsonnet.tumblr.com/post/83026739282/single-ladies%C2%A0).
> 
> This is technically the end of this not-a-tragedy, but I have more ideas in my head about what happens next, so the epilogue continues the story after NYADA. -amy


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever get to the end of a story and think, wait, what about x, y, or z? Why didn’t the author resolve that? Or, possibly, you wish they had written more about specific characters, or a particular backstory. This is the joy of fanfiction, because you actually get to ask for what you want, and the chances are pretty good that this author, at least, will (in time) entertain requests. Please do leave them in the comments, or email nubianamy at gmail dot com.
> 
> Check out this video for [a glimpse backstage into the 2014 Broadway revival of Cabaret](https://www.playbill.com/video/kit-kat-boys-delve-into-the-darkest-depths-backstage-at-cabaret). 
> 
> Also, if you have not yet taken my advice to watch The Importance of Being Earnest, you will want to at least be familiar with (spoilers) [this scene with Jack and Gwendolen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eRZTeY8PjCQ). 
> 
> The penultimate scene has been in my head, and my notes, since 2013. It’s amazing to get a chance to write it at last.
> 
> Thank you so, so much for reading. Happy endings all around. 
> 
> -amy

_**May 2014** (nearly two years later)_

Kurt blinked as Anthony slapped a folded magazine down beside his coffee cup. “Well, good morning to you, too.”

“Read that,” Anthony said. He poured himself a glass of orange juice, still breathing hard from his morning run.

He peered at the column. “Yes, I heard about _Hamilton._ Sounds a little iffy to me. I mean, really, who wants to sit through three hours of rap about American history?”

“The one on the side. Two more over—just, here.” Anthony leaned over and tapped the block of text in the right column.

“Oh, wow.” Kurt set his fork down and picked up the magazine. _“Three generations, one theater._ The Riverhead, that’s the one that belonged to Ruth’s father.”

“Keep reading.”

He read aloud under his breath. “Returned to the city after years away…fresh new face in the Long Island theater circuit… I guess they like the shows Aaron’s been directing?” He nodded, feeling pleased. “Good for him.”

The last paragraph of the article mentioned Noah. _While both Aaron Puckerman and his son have proven plenty of aptitude in the roles they’ve played at the Dayton Opera House over the past fourteen years, it looks like New York has become this family’s new theatrical center. Noah “Puck” Puckerman is currently putting his tech skills to use in the lighting booth at the Cort Theater production of Waiting for Godot. He will make his Broadway debut this month as one of the Kit Kat boys and on-stage ensemble in the revival of Cabaret._

“This month.” Kurt turned the magazine over to the cover. “This was in April? He’s been in _Cabaret_ for a month and nobody told me?”

“I’m telling you.” Anthony grinned. “Look at you, getting all mad over nothing.”

“I’m not mad!” Kurt insisted. “I’m just—wow. This is huge. He’s working with Alan freaking Cumming.”

“He’s never been one to name-drop. I really don’t think he cares.” Anthony reached over and took a slice of strawberry from Kurt’s bowl of granola, munching it thoughtfully. “You want me to get us tickets?”

“Hell yes.” That was hardly a question worth asking. Anthony seldom suggested they do expensive things together, since he knew Kurt wouldn’t be able to afford them, but really, Kurt was not about to turn down tickets to _Cabaret,_ even if Noah hadn’t been in it. As an afterthought, he reached out and clasped Anthony’s hand with a distracted smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get so worked up about old news.”

“Kurt.” Anthony gave his hand a squeeze. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Would Oliver like to come for dinner tomorrow? I can make that pasta dish he likes.”

“I’ll ask. He’s barely leaving his studio for anything until his recital, but even obsessive pianists need to eat.”

Kurt nudged Anthony’s hand away as he reached for more of Kurt’s strawberries.

“I thought you liked to share,” Anthony teased.

“I’ll get you your own breakfast, but you can’t have mine.” Kurt stood up and got the strawberries out of the fridge, setting them in the sink. “Can we do a matinee on Sunday? I have the day off.”

“I have evening rehearsal, so that should work.” He turned to look at Kurt. “Hey. I knew this was going to be a big deal. You don’t have to talk to him or anything.”

“I won’t make it a big deal, and you shouldn’t worry about it.” Kurt waved his hand. “It’s been a long time. I’m over him.”

That wasn’t quite true. How many weeks had actually gone by in which he’d failed to think about Noah? There hadn’t been many. He listened to Noah’s recitation of the sonnet version of “Single Ladies” a few times a month. And he wasn’t keeping very close watch on the “Days Since I Had A Sex Dream About Noah Puckerman” count, but it had remained diminishingly small. Still, he had to admit that didn’t make much of a difference to the world in which he lived now. He had his own life, along with his own pleasant distractions. He smiled again at Anthony.

The rest of the week went by as usual, but he found himself wondering about Aaron and Felix more often. On his lunch break, he read reviews of Aaron’s fall production of Barlow’s adaptation of Hitchcock’s _39 Steps_ at the Riverhead. They were glowingly positive, and included some very nice comments about Felix’s performance. The theater website didn’t yet have a link to tickets for their summer productions, but there was a photo gallery of the last three shows. Kurt was startled to see Chris Janssen’s face in two of them. Stage makeup had done an admirable job of covering up the scars. He looked more or less the way Kurt remembered him.

On Sunday, Anthony took him to the Smith for lunch and cocktails. They’d walked most of the eight blocks to the theater before Kurt noticed Anthony’s silence.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Anthony paused at the crosswalk. “I guess I expected you to be more excited about seeing this show.”

“Oh, I am! I really am.” Kurt touched his sleeve. “I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking.”

“I noticed. We all have. You haven’t been doing a lot else this year. When’s the last time you considered auditioning for a show?”

“I really haven’t had time.” He hurried after Anthony when the light changed. “I still have my last few classes, and there’s work.”

“I know. You’ve been picking up extra assignments. We haven’t seen you much.”

He did look worried. Kurt shook his head. “I’m fine. I’m not—I mean, I like my job.”

“Even though it’s not what you wanted to do.”

“Even though.” He smiled, remembering. “I said something like that to Chris once, when he was thinking about applying for a desk job. But it turned out he was right. Sometimes it’s better to make sure the bills are paid.”

Anthony just looked at him through narrowed eyes. They joined the line beside the marquee.

“Kurt,” he said at last, “I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit. I know, I’m the last one to tell you money doesn’t matter, but…” He frowned in frustration. “What you’re doing right now, it’s not you.”

“I’m not sure what to tell you if you’re not going to listen to me.” It didn’t feel good to have Anthony looking at him like that, particularly not in the middle of the sidewalk. “Look, are you trying to tell me you want to break up?”

“No! I’m not telling you anything. I just want you to be happy.”

“And I am.” He pointed at Alan Cumming’s face on the enormous sign as they passed through the first set of doors into the lobby. “How about we focus on enjoying _Cabaret_ , please?”

Anthony still didn’t look satisfied, but he didn’t offer any more arguments. He did appear to have a good time at the show. The old theater had been transformed back into a nightclub, complete with tables and lamps, and was perfectly suited to the immersive performance.

The entire cast was on stage, even a selection of the band, who were also in costume. They first spotted Noah with other band members on a high platform, suspended above the stage, but he later descended the spiral staircase and Kurt had a better view of him, bare-chested with black pants and red vest.

“I didn’t know he could even play the accordion,” Anthony murmured.

Kurt thought about the many instruments in Ruth’s music room. Could Noah play all of them, too? He just nodded, not once looking away from the stage, and let Anthony order him a second cocktail.

There was tremendous applause at the end. Anthony smiled. “Stage door?”

“Stage door,” Kurt agreed.

He felt like a tourist, waiting with the handful of audience members who’d joined them in the alley with programs and Sharpie markers. Kurt let Alan Cumming go by without comment, but when Noah emerged in a group of other young men, chattering to one another, he stepped forward.

“Could I have your autograph?” he said, and saw Noah blink and stammer before laughing in surprise.

“Guys,” he called to the cast members near him, “these are Kurt and Anthony, from Usdan.”

The other Kit Kat Boys surrounded them, some carrying instrument cases, all beautiful and toned and delighted to meet them. Noah made no sign of wanting to depart quickly, as Kurt had seen him do repeatedly following shows.

“I have to head back home before rehearsal,” Anthony said to Kurt. “Why don’t the two of you catch up, and we’ll talk later? Great to see you, Puck.”

Noah hugged Anthony, then turned to Kurt. “You got time for coffee?”

“I do,” he said.

Noah left Kurt with a handful of Kit Kat Boys while he stashed his accordion and bag backstage. They smiled at him knowingly.

“He’s _Juliet,_ ” one said to another, and the second boy let out a gasp.

“Oh, he is! He looks just like his picture.”

Kurt felt all their eyes on him. It was far more attention than he’d received in months, and it made him a little faint.

They walked around the block to Birch Coffee. Noah had three new piercings in his right ear and one in his nose. He made small talk about his coffee order, but Kurt couldn’t take his eyes off those piercings.

“All right, start from when you arrived in New York.” Kurt held the cup close to his mouth and inhaled the aroma with pleasure. It felt positively deviant to be drinking coffee in the early evening, even if it was decaf. “Summer of 2012, living in—?”

“Queens,” Noah said. “I got an apartment with Chris. Thanks to Bryce’s internship program, I got an apprenticeship three days a week with the Black Box Theater. They revive classic plays and musicals, and they do some new plays, too. The other two days, I took care of Beth in the morning. Still do, when I can. Shelby runs a day care in Manhattan, and it’s a lot easier if she doesn’t have to get up in the morning and get her ready, too.” He grinned to himself. “And I really love doing it. In the afternoon I volunteered at Maspeth High School in Queens.”

“Doing what?” Kurt asked, hoping he didn’t betray any sign of _what could you offer kids in high school?_ in his voice.

“Teaching Shakespeare. I mean, sometimes, it was more like I would do whatever they needed, but you know how it was in Mr. Tracy’s class, when we acted out _Merchant of Venice._ Like that. It kept things interesting. I’d like to think it kept the kids in school.”

“I bet it cut down on the bunburying.”

Noah flashed him a smile. “Exactly. So after that year with the Black Box—which was amazing, by the way, I learned so much and met a ton of people—I got farmed out to work crew on a bunch of shows. I was backstage doing props during _The Nance_ at the Lyceum, with Nathan Lane. Totally deserved all the Tonys it won. I worked with the special effects crew with Leveaux’ _Romeo & Juliet,_ which I thought was pretty good, even though it got worse reviews than our production did. And Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart’s repertory production of _No Man’s Land_ and _Waiting for Godot,_ holy shit.” He grinned, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Helping with that one production more than made up for the dozens of failed auditions I had all spring. That closed in February. Then I auditioned for a show at the Theater Center, and that’s where I met Catherine Russell. She’s an old friend of my dad’s. She helped me take apart my audition and, more importantly, made sure I was in the right place at the right time to offer to take over for the pregnant accordion player in the Kit Kat Club band. Boom, _Cabaret._ ”

It was remarkable to hear Noah talk like it was the most ordinary thing for him to be excited about running into old friends of his dad’s. Kurt couldn’t help but smile. “The show was incredible. I hope I can see it again before it closes. The way all the musicians were right on stage, part of the show.”

Noah sipped his latte. “Yeah, the directors really hit that sweet spot between performance and participation.”

“Catherine Russell, that name sounds familiar. What does she do? She’s an actress?”

“Yeah, and teaches acting classes, and she’s faculty at NYU. Between her and the folks in _Cabaret_ , I’m meeting directors and producers every weekend.” His face was joyously alight. “I’m working on a project.”

“Working on…?” Kurt prompted, eyes wide, and Noah shook his head.

“Nothing concrete yet. Just adapting a concept, but it’s the script, the score, the whole thing. Except the choreography, I’m leaning kind of hard on Chris for that.”

His name had come up enough times by now that Kurt guessed it would be rude not to ask. “What’s Chris been up to?”

“A lot of the same as me, really, but further east. He’s finishing a short run of Pinter’s _Homecoming_ at the Riverhead. You remember, Kenneth Grant’s theater, the one that hosted Bryce’s memorial? My dad’s directing a series of shows there now, and Chris has been working with him off and on. Mostly doing young roles, to be honest.” Noah shook his head, amused. “We’re back to being kids again.”

Noah definitely didn’t look like a kid, but neither did he look like the sardonic, jaded individual Kurt had met so many times before. He recognized that same spark he’d seen in Noah upon arriving at Usdan two years ago, while talking with Chris. But Kurt couldn’t help but ask for clarification. “Chris is living on Long Island?”

“Mostly. He still has stuff at our place in Queens. He and my dad are working on a show for the Long Island summer crowd. I think he’s decided on another Oscar Wilde production, _An Ideal Husband._ Chris was disappointed about missing out on _Earnest_ at Usdan.” He smiled at Kurt. “You want to audition?”

“Um—” Kurt laughed. “I would love to, but I have a day job in Manhattan. Writing for _Vogue Online_ magazine.” 

Noah’s eyebrows went up. “Yeah?”

“I say it pays the bills, but really, my boss is amazing. I was working evenings and weekends while I was in school. She offered a flexible schedule, so if I’m doing a show in the city—I mean, not that I have, but—if I did, I could work around it. Sadly I think Long Island is too long a haul to make that work.” He added, “But I would love to come see it.” 

“I’ll get you tickets. So, you’re staying in New York after NYADA?”

He sounded very casual, but Kurt could see the way he was playing with his napkin. _I still know his tells,_ he thought. It was a strangely compelling piece of knowledge.

“I don’t think there was ever any question of that. I love living in Brooklyn, love working in Manhattan. I’m not going anywhere.”

Noah nodded. “You and… anybody else?”

“Not currently. Not anything significant, anyway.” He regarded Noah’s curious expression with bemusement. “How much detail do we have time for?”

“How flexible is that schedule of yours?” Noah countered.

They walked over to Central Park. Even in May it was warm at five-thirty, but under the trees it was close to perfect. It took Kurt a few minutes to get back to a point where he felt comfortable describing his love life, such as it was, but Noah didn’t seem to mind the silence.

“So it may not surprise you to find out I am not the hookup type,” he said, prompting a laugh from Noah. “It didn’t take me long to figure this out. Eventually my friends figured it out, too, and stopped inviting me to bars. I did date a couple of people over the last two years. Adam Crawford, also a student at NYADA. Stunning voice, but he moved on as soon as he figured out I wasn’t as into him as he was into him.”

“There’s no dearth of self-centered guys in theater,” Noah said solemnly, and Kurt gave his arm a little push.

“Hush, we were talking about me. Then there was Elliot Gilbert, who came to audition for my band. That was short-lived, but both fun and memorable.”

“Elliot or the band?”

“Both, really. Eventually I stopped dating and focused on school.” He coughed. “Which really meant I ended up hooking up with my friends.”

“Oh really.” Noah sounded intrigued. “Which ones?”

“Everybody, at least once, I think. Except Finn—though there was that one night we all came home drunk.” Kurt shrugged. “Anthony has always been the simplest option, because Oliver is not at all the jealous type, and also he’s a freshman at Juilliard and ridiculously busy. So we’re sharing living quarters at the moment. It’s definitely friends-with-benefits and no illusions. Anyway, relationships have been a little outside my reality.”

“By your choice, I hope.”

Kurt nodded. “It was more that lots of actors fulfilled the role of my lover than me ever really having one, myself. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“So… what about you?”

Noah considered the question without apparent concern as they strolled.

“You might remember Greg told me I couldn’t have the rights and privileges of a member of a social group without first identifying with that group, and then demonstrating loyalty to it?”

Kurt nodded and raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“I am so gay, Kurt,” Noah said emphatically. “I am so fucking gay.”

Kurt had to pause for a moment to catch his breath from laughing. “Oh… that’s really wonderful, Noah.”

Noah nodded fervent agreement. “I’ll tell you what it was that flipped the shame switch for me: a whole lot of sex with a whole lot of men who really, really wanted to give me what I wanted. Eventually there was no way I could feel bad about asking for it anymore.”

Kurt watched Noah’s open, honest expression with what he knew must be undisguised delight. “I am so glad to hear that.”

They continued walking. “And, all right, you might as well say that being gay in New York City isn’t all that much different from being gay at Usdan. Like, it’s just a much bigger walled garden? But I decided that was probably a good way to handle it at the beginning.”

“Certainly. I mean, pretty soon you’ll be able to pretend the whole world is safe.”

“Yeah, as safe as it gets.” His face grew serious. “What happened to Chris, that was… well, terrifying. Not being able to talk about it with anybody, that whole production week, I still think that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Without warning, Noah reached out and took his hand. Kurt felt his heart leap, as though his chest was suddenly too small to contain it.

“I’m so sorry I put you in that position, Kurt,” he said. “Even long after it made sense for you to continue defending me, you did.”

“But what happened to Chris wasn’t your fault,” Kurt protested.

“No, but it was reasonable to assume it was. I know you had doubts. But I want you to know that didn’t ever make me feel like you didn’t believe in me. Even that last day, your questions on the stage, I knew it wasn’t about what you thought of me.”

The words came quickly, but clean and without malice, like a torrent of water. Kurt felt them wash over him, letting his eyes close. They had stopped walking. When he opened his eyes, Noah was gazing at him, lips parted.

“Do you want to stay over tonight?” Kurt asked.

Noah looked a little surprised to be asked, but he nodded. “If Anthony wouldn’t mind?”

“I just have to let him know. He stays with Oliver most Sundays, anyway.”

Noah reached out and put a hand on top of his other one, holding Kurt’s between them. Then he stepped in closer, giving Kurt plenty of room to say no, and kissed him, gently, experimentally, as though they hadn’t done that very thing hundreds of times before. It did feel different, in a way, but it also felt achingly familiar. Kurt leaned into it, until Noah made a small noise of wanting, and he stepped back with a laugh.

“Lead the way,” said Noah.

Kurt made sure his text to Anthony went through before they boarded the R line. _I’m bringing someone home tonight._

 _For both of us?_ Anthony replied.

Kurt gazed at Noah, standing in the middle of the swaying car, holding the pole. When he caught Kurt watching him, he smiled back, full and pleased, without one ounce of hesitation.

 _Not this time,_ Kurt told Anthony.

_I’ll stay with Oliver, then. Is this who I think it is?_

He tilted his head at Noah, considering the question. _I haven’t decided yet, but I’ll keep you posted._

* * *

Kurt stretched his entire body, one set of muscles at a time, and smiled lazily at Noah.

“That was probably the first time I’ve had sex _in_ this bed with someone who’d never been _on_ this bed before. It’s the center of my social circle. Nobody sits on the couch; everybody hangs out on this bed.”

“They don’t want to miss any opportunity to get into your pants.” Noah slid his hand from Kurt’s chest to his stomach. “I think you must have been working out nonstop to make your body look like this in two years.”

“Puberty has graced me late with muscle definition. I am still weirded out by it, but by no means complaining.” His smile relaxed, peaked in a laugh, and concluded in a sigh. “God, Noah, I _really_ needed that. It’s been a long, dry spring.”

Noah pressed a kiss to his hipbone. “We don’t have to be done yet. Just give me a little time to recover.”

“I think food might be important, if this is intermission.” Kurt stood, holding out a hand to help Noah off the broad expanse of mattress. He donned a robe before heading into the kitchen, but Noah stuck with boxer briefs.

It wasn’t a much fancier apartment than the one he’d lived in with Michael and Finn, but it was two subway stops closer to 81st Street, which made the cost increase well worth it. Not to mention the benefits of having a little more privacy. One roommate was much easier to plan around than two.

“You sure this is okay?” Noah glanced around the empty apartment.

“Being unclothed? Or you being here at all?” Kurt paused to kiss him. “You’re more than welcome to wear as little as you want in this place. Anthony is fine staying with Oliver tonight. As for what anybody will think about you being here, it’s my business, not theirs.” He opened the fridge and took out the bowl of chicken, marinating since that afternoon. “What about Chris? Will he have an opinion about—me?”

Noah laughed, looking somewhat sheepish. “Well, you’re unique in his book. I’m pretty sure he thinks you can do no wrong.”

Kurt thought about that while he turned on the kettle to boil. “Because of how he felt about me?”

“Yeah. I’m going to assume you know something about that.” Noah was still smiling. “I won’t subject you to our late night conversations about you.”

“How about we just allow those details to remain shrouded in mystery?” Kurt agreed. “Cheese in the sauce okay?”

“Bring it. I don’t think I can possibly take in enough calories on a performance day.” He accepted a glass of water from Kurt. “Thanks. You still in touch with people back home?”

“Less and less. My social circle’s in New York these days, at least for now. Blaine and Asher are moving to France next winter, to take a semester of ballet with the Paris Marais. And there’s Finn, of course, but Michael’s performing with Chicago Lyric Opera now, and Finn’s still waffling about college. He agreed to wait until I was done with NYADA so our folks would only have to pay one tuition check at a time, but honestly, I think he’s not really looking forward to more school.”

“I’m not going to disagree with that.”

Kurt paused while he waited for the water to boil and ran an admiring hand down Noah’s bare shoulder. “I like that new tattoo.”

“I forget it’s there most of the time.” He craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the spiraling words around the plume, the mask. “It’s a quote from _Cyrano.”_

“I know.” Kurt squeezed the muscle connecting his neck to his shoulder, and Noah sighed in pleasure. “I saw Bryce’s production from, when, 1978? Your mother showed me the tape.”

“She—!?” He jerked his head up to stare at Kurt. “When?”

“We first watched it right after he passed away. Your mom and I weren’t friends then, but I would say we’re closer to it now. I visit her and Sarah every time I go home.” He measured a cup of rice, and waited until Noah’s expression faded from shock to perplexity. “You know Tanisha and Jake are living with her now, right?”

“I’d heard,” he said slowly. “I haven’t really met Jake yet. I mean, I know I did when I was a kid, but I don’t remember him.”

“I’m not surprised. Your mom’s a worse communicator than you are.”

“Truth.” Noah handed Kurt the empty water glass. “My dad, on the other hand, calls me every week. Or, I should say, Felix calls me, and he puts the phone in my dad’s hand, and we talk for an hour and a half. Did you know my dad’s planning to teach a method class at NYU next fall?”

Noah stirred the rice into the pot and turned the heat down to low, settling a cover on top. “Would you be offended if I said I was so impressed with your dad?”

“Maybe you should be impressed with the guy who’s keeping him in line. My dad’s still as dysfunctional as ever.” His smile was definitely pleased, though.

“I have nothing bad to say about Felix, but your dad’s the person who is continuing to live with the effects of his stroke every day.” Kurt paused to open the fridge and handed Noah a block of cheese and a grater, then followed it up with a bottle of Brooklyn Black Ops Stout. “I know it must be exhausting to deal with that, but he doesn’t show any signs of stopping.”

Noah took a sip of the beer, nodding in appreciation. “Mmm, that’s nice. No, I’m not offended. My dad and I have both done a lot of forgiving.”

He went to wash his hands, accepting a clean towel from Kurt, along with another kiss. This one went on a little longer.

“Dinner first,” Kurt murmured, as Noah slid his hands around to cup his ass. He patted Noah’s perfectly waxed bare chest, and Noah chuckled.

“Speaking of forgiving… I did go back to Dayton once, for a specific reason.” Noah picked up the block of cheese and began methodically shredding it. “You remember Dylan, the intern at the Dayton Opera House? The one my dad caught me fooling around with when I was fourteen?”

“I remember somebody threatened you with that knowledge in juvie,” Kurt said uneasily.

Noah just nodded. “Well, Greg said I should try to get some closure with him. It took me a while, but I finally figured out where he was living, and I sent him an email apologizing to him. For leading him on, for putting his professional life at risk. He invited me to come by the next time I was in Dayton, so I made a trip out for that.” Noah grinned at him. “And then guess what I did? I _didn’t have sex with him.”_

“No!” Kurt pretended to gasp, while Noah laughed.

“I know! But I did convince Dylan to come back to the opera house, to see what was going on, and to talk to the new general manager, the woman who took over for my dad. He said maybe he’ll even audition foran upcoming show.” He set the cheese grater on the counter. “I just… I didn’t want him to think that it was the end for him at that theater, or theater in general, because he was ashamed about what we did. Everybody else forgave him. No reason he shouldn’t forgive himself.”

Kurt firmly turned Noah to face him and kissed him a third time. This one ended up knocking quite a few magnets off the refrigerator.

“Dinner,” Noah reminded him, but it was halfhearted.

“I’m not forgetting anything. I just wasn’t going to let that go.”

The cheese made it into the sauce, the sauce onto the chicken and the rice, and the dinner into their bellies before Kurt dragged them back to bed. This round of sex was much gentler, mostly in deference to their full stomachs, but no less passionate. Neither of them seemed to be in a hurry to leave the bed when they were done.

“I have something for you,” Kurt said.

Noah watched with interest as he reached above their heads and took down the framed third place certificate from the wall, then detached the envelope from the back of the frame and handed it to Noah.

“I wrote this play based on ideas from your notebook,” he said. “The one Mrs. Wright made you keep before freshman year.”

“I still can’t believe I let you talk me into sharing that with you.” Noah looked honestly embarrassed.

“No, but the ideas were really good,” Kurt insisted. “If they hadn’t been, I couldn’t have written this script. Believe me, I’ve tried several times since.” He touched the framed certificate. “I wish I could have shared the tuition credits with you.”

“Well, yeah, except Bryce already paid for school for me. Not that I’m using it.” Noah shook his head in wonder as he paged through the script. “This is fucking awesome, Kurt. Writing still scares the crap out of me. I should ask you to help me with the script for this project.”

Kurt laughed breathlessly. “I would love to.”

Noah looked up at him in surprise. “Really?” When Kurt nodded, he laughed, too. “Well, um… okay. It’s kind of a jukebox musical, and kind of an adaptation of a movie. The hardest part has been getting approval to use all the music from the soundtrack, but Catherine’s been helping introduce me to the right people for that. I’ve secured the rights to most of the songs now.”

“What movie is it?”

Noah bit his lip. “It’s _The Big Chill.”_

Kurt found himself caught between cheering and crying. He managed to sweep the framed certificate and the script off the bed before crushing Noah in an enormous naked hug.

“Kurt,” Noah said, laughing, “you don’t even know if it’s any good.”

“Shut up,” Kurt demanded. “When do we start?”

* * *

Kurt got another surprising glimpse into Noah’s concept for “his project,” as he called it, a few weeks later, in the alley behind Studio 54 following an evening show of _Cabaret._ Noah had gotten into the habit of provided Kurt with a comp ticket whenever he could come. In addition to enjoying the musical on its own merits, Kurt found himself appreciating the opportunity to analyze a single show over multiple viewings.

The Kit Kat Boys exited the stage door later than usual, after all the principal roles had departed. They were singing, which wasn’t unusual, but they also appeared to be dancing, and it definitely wasn’t choreography from _Cabaret_.

“That’s ‘Tell Him,’ from _The Big Chill,”_ Kurt said with excitement. “Is that for Noah’s project?”

 _“Noah,”_ Bobby snickered. “Nobody calls him that.”

“He has us try things out,” said Victor. “We’re his practice band. Except out here, we have no instruments.”

“But it sounded good without them. Can you sing it again?”

The scattered stage door audience watched with interest as Victor led the Kit Kat Boys in an _a cappella_ version of “Tell Him,” complete with doo-wap backup, along with rudimentary mouth percussion from Herman:

_I know something about love  
_ _You've gotta want it bad  
_ _If that guy's got into your blood  
_ _Go out and get him_

_If you want him to be  
_ _The very heart of you  
_ _Make you want to breathe  
_ _Here's the thing to do  
_

_Tell him that you're never gonna leave him  
_ _Tell him that you're always gonna love him  
_ _Tell him, tell him, tell him, tell him right now…_

Kurt wasn’t the only one to applaud.

“That actually works,” Victor said, nodding. “But there are other songs that wouldn’t sound so good without instruments.”

By the time Noah arrived, Kurt and the boys were deep in conversation about the importance of various instrumentation to preserve the nature of the original music from _The Big Chill_.

“Strings, for sure,” Herman was saying, as Noah looked back and forth between them. “Guitars, horns, various percussion… keyboards, definitely. You can’t do ‘Whiter Shade of Pale’ without an organ.”

Kurt grabbed Noah’s hands, reeling him into the conversation without a stop. “But some of the singers could be on stage, like in _Cabaret,_ right?”

“Well, here’s the thing,” Noah said. They trailed the rest of the Kit Kat boys behind them as they departed. “The story in _The Big Chill_ is set in 1983, but there was originally going to be a flashback to them being friends in 1968. There’s a lot of story that was cut out in the movie, including the part of their friend Alex who committed suicide. And I thought, what if that backstory was put back in?”

“There’s really two stories,” Bobby said. “You’d need two casts, one older, one younger.”

“So maybe the songs could offer a kind of buffer between the two time periods,” Kurt said. “To provide transition from one to the other. Like in the movie, where the whole cast is dancing to the music as they make dinner? It fits in and around the story. This could be like that, only a little more magical.”

“Yeah.” Noah was nodding, his gaze far away. “I can definitely see that. The musical components would complement the dramatic script.”

Kurt bounced in excitement. “The performers in both time periods could even interact with one another, in that liminal space.”

Noah glanced back at their humming entourage, murmured a polite “‘xcuse me,” and paused in their walk to envelop Kurt in a sudden passionate kiss. Kurt let out a squeak. The boys cooed and applauded, like it was all part of the show.

“This,” Noah said, when they were done. _“This_ is what I’ve needed, Kurt. I’ve got ideas, but I need people to help me workshop them. I can only do so much in my own head.”

“Well.” Kurt had to take a moment to catch his breath. “It’s not like we don’t have friends to help. Anthony, Asher, Blaine—they’d be there. Chris, too, right?”

Noah nodded. “Maybe. I mean, yeah, they probably would, if I asked.”

The rest of the boys said good night at the end of the block, calling teasing comments like _let him get some sleep, okay?_ Noah wasn’t even listening. Kurt took his hand as they walked, waiting for him to process.

“I don’t think that even occurred to me,” Noah said at last.

“What?”

“That other people would want to help me do something like this. Other actors. They’ve never been, like, colleagues. Only adversaries. Competition. Even me and Chris…” He shook his head, bemused. “I never thought about them like… like friends.”

Kurt smiled curiously. “They are, though?”

“Yeah, of course they are. But you saw it. I didn’t.”

They got on the bus that would take them to Noah’s apartment. Kurt kept an eye on Noah as they rode, but he still seemed to be working through something.

As they disembarked and the bus drove away, Noah turned to him again. Now he looked determined.

“I know it’s not perfect,” he said. “This project. A movie adaptation; a jukebox musical. I mean… it’s kind of selling out, right?”

“No.” Kurt wrinkled his nose. “Do you really think making something that people want, something fun, is the same as selling out?”

“Not exactly. But I can tell it could be so much better. That’s what I’m saying.” He searched Kurt’s face. “I need you to help me make it better.”

“I’m here,” said Kurt. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For an instant, he saw a flash of fear penetrate Noah’s thoughtful exterior, but it was only momentary. Then he nodded, taking a deep breath. “I’m really glad.”

* * *

Kurt hadn’t realized quite how much he’d missed Finn until they all went to dinner before Aaron’s play. He made sure to mention it while they were hanging up their jackets.

“I missed you, too, little brother.” Finn gave him a half-hug. “Chicago’s so much better than New York City, though. I don’t think we’re moving back.”

“We will have to agree to disagree on that one.”

“I mean, without you around, I don’t have anybody to explain the plots of Michael’s operas.” He grimaced. “I wish I was joking. And I thought musicals were bad.”

“There is a thing called a phone, you know.”

“Yeah, but…” His voice dropped. “There are some things you don’t want to talk about over the phone.”

Kurt put a sudden hand on his arm, stopping his progress back toward their table. “Okay, now you have to explain.”

Finn laughed nervously. “Just—thinking about the future. We’ve been talking. Discussing what’s next.”

Kurt stared at him. “ _And?”_

“And… we want to, you know. Start a family.” He held up a hand at Kurt’s indignant noise. “Not like we can do that accidentally. We want to adopt.”

“Holy shit.” Kurt shook his head. “Who’s talking whom into things here? What about school? Are you going to tell your mom? Do they even let gay men adopt in Illinois?”

Finn slid into the booth beside Michael. “Nobody, I don’t know, eventually, and kind of.” He gave Kurt a look. “We’ll talk later.”

“Oh my god, you told him,” Michael groaned. “Finn, we _talked_ about this…”

“Told him what?” Carole sat up straight, staring at Finn. “Wait, you’re not pregnant? Hang on, that’s not possible. Is it?”

“I say secrets are irrelevant when you see one another once a year.” His dad gestured across the table. “We’ll get to Finn’s secret, whatever it is. Come on, Kurt, you go first. What’s the really juicy gossip we should know? Because the news from Lima these days is basically limited to what I hear at the garage.”

“Um…” Kurt rifled through what had been happening in his life over the past two months, and quickly decided he would have to start with the obvious. “Puck and I are dating again.”

Carole leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Well, that’s a relief. No hard feelings? I mean, last I heard, you were dating somebody else.”

“No hard feelings. Anthony and Oliver got an apartment together for the summer. I think Oliver’s relieved not to have to keep asking him to visit.”

“And Puck?” said Michael. “He and Chris, that’s not a thing anymore?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure it was ever a thing. Chris is living out here now.” He sighed. “To be honest, I haven’t seen Chris since Bryce’s funeral.”

Finn gave him a look. “Does that mean tonight’s going to be awkward?”

“Maybe.” Kurt rearranged his silverware and smoothed his napkin over his perfectly creased dress pants. “Tonight’s about his show, not about us. Sure, I’m curious to find out his perspective on what happened with us, but I’m not really worried about it.”

His dad shook his head. “You guys, trading partners like Fleetwood Mac, but without all the drama. I don’t know how you do it.”

“We let all our drama show up in our work,” Kurt said. “No need for it to permeate our relationships. Those can be more… transactional.”

Michael snorted, but Carole just looked concerned. “Transactional. That’s not how it is with you and Puck, is it?”

Kurt hesitated before saying, “We’ll see.”

It wasn’t something he felt ready to say to anybody, much less to himself. Every time he considered bringing it up with Noah, something stopped him. He didn’t think it was intentional, just a run of low-level bad luck.

 _Like a tragedy,_ his brain whispered insidiously. He tried not to pay attention to it.

“Anyway,” he added briskly, “tonight, we’re going to get to see Puck and Chris perform another classic Oscar Wilde play, _An Ideal Husband,_ directed by Aaron Puckerman. When it comes to drama, it really doesn’t get any better than that.”

* * *

The lobby was certainly much quieter than it had been the last time Kurt had been at the Riverhead. As Carole stopped to pick up the tickets from the box office, Kurt found himself beset on both sides by Felix and Aaron.

“Puck mentioned you might be here tonight.” Aaron’s smile spread across both sides of his face—if not exactly evenly, then certainly with more coverage than Kurt had seen before.

Kurt hugged him before thinking about it. “You look wonderful.”

“Drugs, legal ones this time, and lots and lots of physical therapy,” Aaron said. “And work I love.”

“And people who love you,” Kurt added, and was delighted to see Aaron turn pink. Felix just laughed.

“Puck is self-isolating before the show. Honestly, I shouldn’t have let him take the role; he only had eight days to rehearse in between shows of _Cabaret_ , but Chris made me promise it would be his.” Aaron made a _what-can-you-do_ gesture.

“I seem to remember Chris being somewhat hard to say no to,” said Kurt.

“I don’t think he’s changed, to be honest.”

Kurt turned around to find Chris standing directly behind him, wearing the most self-satisfied smile Kurt had ever seen on him.

 _And that’s saying something,_ he thought in a daze, hugging Chris.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hey you,” Chris whispered back. “Really glad you made it.” He held Kurt at arm’s length. “You have the most perfect skin. How do you do it?”

“I, um. I don’t get beaten by assholes in Queens?”

Chris laughed out loud. “That is a really excellent plan. I will try to follow it the next time I’m reincarnated.”

“You got even taller,” Kurt accused, gazing up into his face. “Not as tall as my stepbrother, but I think you have enough inches to play all the villains you want now.”

“Yeah, but now I’m too tall to be a good dancer,” he said mournfully. “Oh, wait, that’s wrong. I’m an awesome dancer. I just don’t fit into anybody’s chorus line silhouette. Good think I was never planning to be part of one.” He took Kurt by the arm. “Come with me. I have to get into makeup before the director gets mad at me.”

“Places in twenty, Chip,” Aaron called.

“Roger that,” he called back. In a regular voice, he added, “I’m kidding. He never gets mad at me.”

“Maybe because he knows you’re sleeping with his son.”

“I’d think that was a strike against? Whatever.” Chris was grinning. “You really think Puck and I are still doing that?”

“I didn’t think it was my place to ask him.”

“Oh, so you’re asking me instead. I’ll tell you a secret, Kurt.” He leaned in and stage-whispered, “He’s still not in love with _me.”_

Kurt’s heart beat a brief, irregular tattoo. “Is that a prerequisite for sex? Last I checked, it wasn’t.”

“I have been told by people knowledgeable about such things that it makes casual sex less enjoyable. Not that I would know, of course.” He rolled his eyes, big and melodramatic, and sighed as he sank into the chair in front of the well-lit makeup mirror. “Fine. The real secret is we’ve been living together for two years to keep one another honest and focused on our mutual goal of auditioning for every part we can, not to mention schmoozing with producers until our ears bleed. But I had a secondary goal all along.”

Kurt eyed him. “Which was?”

“To make sure our mutual friend got thoroughly fucked.”

Kurt choked, but managed to say, “He—did say something about that.”

“Yeah.” Chris smiled sunnily at him in the mirror, dabbing the makeup sponge in his tin of Beige 2. “Play parties every weekend. Public sex is still a little edgy for me, after my adventures with heavy objects, so I mostly got to be chaperone. Which meant I really got to _watch.”_

“Oh.” Kurt fumbled desperately for something witty to say and came up with absolutely zero.

“So. Hot. He’s much improved from before.” He raised his eyebrows at Kurt. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice?”

“I always thought he was great in bed,” Kurt admitted. “Even back at the beginning, when he was mostly lying about what he wanted.”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, Kurt. He wanted everything from _you._ Still does. That’s your superpower, I think. Noah Puckerman, who doesn’t believe in romance, thinks the sun rises and sets on you.”

Kurt sank down into the chair beside Chris, watching him apply his makeup with skill and precision. “You wanted to see me tonight so you could tell me that?”

“No, I wanted you to watch me and Puck hit one out of the park. For old times’ sake. I watched the video of your production of _Romeo & Juliet_, by the way, so it’s only fair.”

He set the powder brush down and turned to face Kurt, offering a conciliatory smile.

“I’m sorry I stopped calling you,” he said gently. “That wasn’t fair. It was less about me feeling hurt that you weren’t in love with me, and more about me wanting to enjoy pretending Puck and I were a real couple, just for a little while.”

“And now?” Kurt ventured.

“Now that I’m pretty clear he and I want different things, it’s easier to move on. Do I love him? Of course. He’ll never be mine. That’s all right.” Chris gave Kurt a reproachful sigh. “And stop looking like I just threw your dog off a balcony. I’m okay.”

Kurt let out his breath slowly. “I… really missed you.”

“I would be hugging you if I didn’t already have powder on. Come on, hand me my vest.” He gestured to the costume hanging on the hook behind them. Kurt handed him each piece, reaching way up to straighten his collar.

“I’m also kind of disappointed you weren’t around for my casual sex phase,” Kurt admitted, and had the satisfaction of seeing Chris blanch.

“Who says things are so linear, anyway?” Chris scoffed. “We can always revisit earlier phases, right? Or at least talk about them in detail, after a few drinks.”

“I think I can promise the latter. Break a leg tonight—and _nothing else,_ all right?”

Kurt sat in the fourth row of the auditorium with Finn and Michael, while Carole and his dad sat one row ahead. Noah played the role of noble, politically savvy Sir Robert Chiltern, and Chris was his charming friend Lord Goring. It was the story of how both men’s perfectly satisfying lives were upset by the appearance of a scheming woman, come to blackmail Sir Robert into supporting her financial goals. Sir Robert stood to lose everything, including his loving wife, who thought he was upright and honest in all things.

The play itself had period themes and plenty of witty banter, but it wasn’t nearly as funny as _Earnest_ had been. Kurt found himself close to tears much quicker than he’d expected. It was only partly due to the storyline. Kurt watched Noah perform each heartbroken, agonized line with a clear and unselfconscious awareness of himself.

 _It’s still him,_ Kurt thought. When Noah had played Algernon, or even Romeo, he was definitely pretending to be someone else, albeit with such skill that anyone but Kurt would be fooled. But now, he was more permeable, letting aspects of himself show through that he hadn’t been able to before. It was like Noah, instead of playing Sir Robert Chiltern, was playing _himself_ on stage, and he looked—he was—

“He’s better,” Kurt breathed.

“If that were possible,” Michael agreed. “But you’re right.”

Chris as Lord Goring was mostly on Sir Robert’s side, but there were a few points at which Goring’s frustration with his friend’s insistence on honor leaked through to the audience.

“I had no idea that you, of all men in the world, could have been so weak, Robert,” snapped Goring, “as to yield to such a temptation as Baron Arnheim held out to you.”

“Weak?” Sir Robert’s face was stormy. “Oh, I am sick of hearing that phrase. Sick of using it about others. Weak? Do you really think, Arthur, that it is weakness that yields to temptation? I tell you that there are terrible temptations that it requires strength, strength and courage, to yield to. To stake all one’s life on a single moment, to risk everything on one throw, whether the stake be power or pleasure, I care not—there is no weakness in that. There is a horrible, a terrible courage.”

Kurt had no one to hold his hand through that scene, so he found himself gripping onto the edge of the velvet chair cushion instead. Whatever the experience of temptation might feel like to him at the moment, it was bound to be nothing like the way Noah was feeling, after years of therapy, building to this moment. He was himself, wholly and completely. He could do anything he wanted, be anybody he wanted to be. Be _with_ anybody.

 _My responsibility,_ he decided, _is to ensure Noah doesn’t squander that on just anyone._

Noah and Chris did not hold hands during the curtain call, but afterward, as the curtain was descending, Kurt saw them clasp one another in a hug. It gave him a warm feeling of calm to know they had one another’s back. Their relationships might include drama, perhaps, but it didn’t seem to be the toxic kind. For that, Kurt was thoroughly grateful.

He waited with Finn and Michael and his parents in the lobby for Noah and Chris to emerge from backstage. It took a while, but when they did, it was amid hysterical laughter. Kurt watched with curiosity as Noah brandished a piece of paper before him. Then he caught sight of Kurt’s family, and came right over to them, beaming.

“Finn,” Noah said, joyously, and hugged him.

Finn looked legitimately surprised to be hugged, but he hugged Noah back without complaint. Then Noah hugged Michael and Carole. By the time he got to Kurt’s dad, his dad was already gearing up for his own hug, but Noah put out a hand first.

“Thanks so much for coming out, Burt. I know it’s a long drive.”

“Hey,” his dad said, looking both startled and pleased. He grabbed Noah’s hand and shook it. “Are you kidding? It’s a treat. You’re a hell of an actor. I hear you’re playing accordion on a Broadway stage these days?”

“Not this weekend,” he said, still smiling. “I found a substitute. This was more important.”

Kurt indicated the paper in Noah’s hand. “Something funny?”

“Oh my god,” Chris came over and snatched the paper. “So it turns out Oscar Wilde wrote detailed notes about _precisely_ what kind of actors he wanted, in every play he ever wrote.” He pointed at Noah. “You want to hear what he said about Sir Robert Chiltern?”

“You do,” Noah said, still giggling, but he managed to repress it and strike a pose to match as Chris read the description, with feeling.

“Aman offorty, but looking somewhat younger. Clean-shaven, with finely-cut features, dark-haired and dark-eyed. A personality of mark. Not popular—few personalities are. But intensely admired by the few, and deeply respected by the many.”

“By the many,” Noah murmured, tilting his nose into the air with a flourish as Kurt snorted.

“The note of his manner is that of perfect distinction,” Chris went on, “and a slight touch of pride. One feels that he is conscious of the success he has made in life. A nervous temperament, with a tired look. The firmly-chiseled mouth and chin contrast strikingly with the romantic expression in the deep-set eyes…”

Noah posed in the other direction. “One wonders how anyone other than me was ever cast at all—”

“The variance is suggestive of an almost complete separation of passionand intellect,” Chris continued, “as though thought and emotion were each isolated in its own sphere through some violence of will-power.”

“Come on, it doesn’t say that,” Carole said, reaching for the paper. Chris pointed at the paragraph, and she snickered. “Okay, maybe it does.”

“Wait, this is the best part. There is a nervousness in the nostrils, and in the pale, thin, pointed hands.” Chris tweaked Noah’s nose, then lifted his hands in the air and let them droop. “It would be inaccurate to call him picturesque. Picturesqueness cannot survive the House of Commons.But Vandyke would have liked to have painted his head.” He made a mic-drop gesture as Noah reached the end of his control and howled with laughter.

“That’s pretty extreme,” Michael agreed, grinning at Finn. “But that’s Oscar Wilde for you.”

“Every. Single. Character,” Chris stressed. “Ye gods. I need a snack.”

Once Noah wasn’t the focus of Chris’s manic hilarity, he settled down a bit and turned to Kurt, his eyes dancing. “That was really fun. Not as though I’ve never done a show on that few rehearsals, but the stakes were lower this time around.”

“I’d say it was a lot of lines to memorize, but… that’s not really a challenge for you, is it?” He put an arm around Noah’s waist and leaned in close. “You made me cry.”

“Definitely a main objective.” Noah looked pleased to see Kurt beside him. “This, you and me, not a problem?”

“Not for anyone,” he promised. “Not anyone I know, anyway. Not for you?”

“Oh, no.” Noah’s voice was rich and satisfied. “Not for me.”

He put a small kiss on Kurt’s temple, but that was as far as he went. He seemed to appreciate the contact Kurt was providing, though, and when Kurt and his family geared up to depart, he appeared torn.

“I’ll see you at your apartment on Monday,” Kurt told him.

Then he went to find Chris and gave him a careful hug. It was impossible not to be careful with Chris after Kurt had seen his body so abused. “Thank you for everything. For the show, and the explanation.” 

“I am to provide entertainment and information in equal measures,” Chris said, smiling. “Thanks for indulging me, Kurt, and don’t be a stranger.”

Kurt met his family outside, descending the concrete steps to the sidewalk. His dad was waiting for him.

“I’ll tell you, Kurt, it was good to see you and Puck together tonight. It was like old times again.”

“Old times were frequently much worse than this, dad,” Kurt said. “Trust me, I’ll take new times over old times any day.”

His dad tilted his head. “The two of you, together. It doesn’t seem like you’re worried about settling anymore.”

“Settling.” Kurt chuckled. “No, at the moment, I feel like I’m getting a big dose of too-good-to-be-true. Lots of unrealistically happy feelings.”

“I always said you should be with somebody who makes you feel happy.” His dad gave him a little smile. “Because you deserve to feel happy.”

Kurt shook his head. “It’s not that simple, Dad.”

“Yeah, kiddo,” his dad said quietly. “I think it really is that simple.”

Kurt leaned his head on his dad’s shoulder, feeling the tears come, and for once not worrying about how it looked.

“I haven’t cried in months.” He wiped his eyes with the side of his hand.

“You’ve been saving it up.”

“I’ve done that before.”

“I know. You think you can talk to him now?”

The need for that was becoming more and more apparent. Kurt had no idea how to bring everything up; not when everything was so _good—_ which didn’t mean he was going to be able to avoid it, either. “Would you think I was a failure if I told you I wasn’t sure?”

“I’m never going to think you’re a failure, Kurt.”

Kurt looked down the block at Carole and Finn, sitting on a bench. They were talking together intently, with Michael listening and hovering nearby.

“I’m afraid of making the wrong decision,” Kurt said softly. “More than I’m afraid of not making the right one. Not for me, but for him.”

His dad snorted. “You really think you could make a decision for somebody else? I know you’ve got a big ego, Kurt, but you’re not God. The only thing you can do is tell Puck what you want and let him choose.”

They watched as Michael circled around and crouched down in front of Finn. Carole started to cry. Finn hugged her, holding on to Michael’s hand.

“That,” his dad said, indicating them. “See that? They’re figuring it out, and I have to let them. That’s how it is when you love somebody. You’re not really completely in control. There’s you, and there’s them, and there’s this other thing, you know? Like the love is its own person. But you have to trust them to bring their part. You can’t do it for them.”

“Like colors on a palette, mixed by the eye.” He smiled as Michael hugged Carole. She was smiling, too.

“Beautiful,” his dad agreed, and kissed Kurt’s cheek.

* * *

“Is he really in the bedroom _writing?”_ Blaine said quietly.

“He’s dictating.” Kurt restrained himself from knocking a fourth time. “He’s less embarrassed to do it with Asher than with me. And Chris is consulting. Probably he’s actually making smart-ass comments.”

Blaine still looked dubious. “And that inspires him?”

“If he can say it out loud, he can hear the way it sounds and make changes. He needs an audience. Consider it as a constant flow of improv.”

“God, that sounds awful.” Blaine twisted his hands together. “I’m getting nervous just thinking about it.”

“It’s how he lived his life for years.” Kurt leaned against the wall, smiling to himself. “Everything he did was an attempt to fit into what people expected of him. Sometimes he just had to give up and default to angry. Kind of a lot. But it’s not like that anymore.”

They both backed away from the bedroom door as the handle turned. Asher came out first, holding a handful of scribbled notes. They could hear Chris and Noah, still arguing. “Okay, I think he’s more satisfied with that scene now. Can we try it before Chris convinces him to make any more changes?”

The apartment wasn’t really large enough to use for blocking, but Kurt had moved the furniture out of the biggest space and taped off the floor according to Noah’s direction. And, as he’d pointed out, the stage at Studio 54 was significantly smaller than the stages they were all used to working on, and _Cabaret_ had plenty of choreography. They would make it work in whatever space they could afford.

“Really, the biggest change is that we’re moving act 2 scene 3 to stage right,” Noah said, gesturing toward the kitchen. “That will give the band room to perform downstage while the crew sets up behind the scrim for scene 4. The first conversation can even take place in front of the scrim. Let’s see how it goes.”

They walked through the lines from scene 3, followed by everyone singing Noah’s _a cappella_ arrangement of “The Tracks of My Tears” with Chris’s rudimentary choreography, and then the new lines Noah had dictated for scene 4.He did indeed seem to be happier with it.

“It’s good,” Blaine said, grinning excitedly.

“It’s getting there.” Noah cracked his neck and frowned to himself. When Kurt put a hand on his shoulder, he sighed.

“I think that’s it for today,” Kurt said.

They all knew what that meant by now. Anthony stopped to kiss his cheek before heading out, and Blaine, snuggly as always, gave him an extended hug.

“You guys are coming over for dinner on Monday, right?” he said.

“We’ll be there,” Kurt promised. “Did I hear correctly you’re going back to Ohio for Christmas?”

Blaine’s smile widened, while the color rose in Asher’s cheeks. “My mom invited us to stay with her for a few weeks before we leave for Paris, but really, I’m hoping to meet Asher’s parents.”

“Trust me, you really don’t want to do that,” Asher said quickly. “What about you, Kurt? Where will you be for the holidays?”

Kurt glanced around the tape on the floor of the apartment, at Noah, pacing and muttering to himself. “It’s… still up in the air.”

Blaine nodded understanding. “See you Monday, then.”

Chris stayed long enough to help unroll the rug and move the furniture back into place, humming “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” under his breath:

_Wouldn't it be nice if we were older  
_ _Then we wouldn't have to wait so long?  
_ _And wouldn't it be nice to live together  
_ _In the kind of world where we belong?_

_You know it's gonna make it that much better  
_ _When we can say goodnight and stay together…_

“I swear, I am going to be earwormed forever,” Chris declared. “This soundtrack never leaves my brain these days.”

“That’s what makes them good songs.” Kurt gathered all of the pages of Noah’s edits and tucked them back into the manilla envelope. He nodded decisively. “Someday we’ll get to see this performed. Kasdan’s script, my adaptations, your choreography, Noah’s direction. It’s really taking shape.”

“Let’s hope we can survive on the ramen in our cupboards until someone wants to produce it for us.” Despite his sarcasm, Chris’s expression was as optimistic as ever. “Take care of your genius. I’ll call you tonight.”

“Bye,” Noah said, almost as an afterthought, as Chris closed the door behind him. He shook his head. “I need to look at that next scene…”

“After lunch.” Kurt took his hand, leading him into the kitchen. “And when you’re ready, I need to ask you something.”

Noah ate the food Kurt put in front of him. They sat across from one another at the tiny kitchen table. It took him another twenty minutes before Noah came out of his head enough to say, “Something on your mind?”

“Have you considered asking Felix and your dad to invest in your project?”

“You mean—” Noah looked genuinely startled. “To perform it at the Riverhead? On Long Island?”

“Not necessarily. There are no shortage of adequate stages in the city for an initial preview, but it would cost something. If we have a general casting for, say, a three week run, we can price that out. It’s a big show, Noah. Two casts, a ton of musicians… it’s not going to be cheap.”

Noah’s eyes narrowed. “You think it would be better to hand this over to my dad.”

“I’m not saying that at all. I’m just talking about funding.”

He could already see Noah getting worked up. “What happened to this being _my project?_ You don’t think I’m not thinking about costs? What do you think I’ve been doing for the past two years, Kurt? I know how to work a concept through to production.”

“Yes, and now it’s almost done,” Kurt insisted. “I don’t want to see all your work go to waste.”

“What kind of _waste_ are you talking about?”

“To have it fall between the cracks. You need promotion, advertising, a business plan for the preview, press—”

“Why don’t you just start singing fucking Sondheim,” Noah muttered. He didn’t even wait for Kurt to catch the reference, and offered seven bars:

_Advancing art is easy  
_ _Financing it is not.  
_ _A vision's just a vision  
_ _If it's only in your head.  
_ _If no one gets to see it,  
_ _It's as good as dead.  
_ _It has to come to light!_

Even in the face of Noah’s random musical tidbits, Kurt couldn’t help but be annoyed. “You’re not the only one who’s been studying this process for two years, you know.”

“Yeah. _I know.”_ Noah threw his fork at the table. It clattered to a halt in front of Kurt. They glared at one another. “I don’t need a college degree to tell me what _I know_.”

“And what’s that, exactly?”

He stabbed a finger at Kurt. “You’ve already decided I can’t do this by myself.”

“None of this is _by yourself,_ Noah.” He walked around the table to crouch down in front of Noah, grabbing his accusatory hand and holding it fast. “Didn’t you notice those four amazing people leave this apartment? They weren’t offering their skills because you paid them. They’re here because they believe in you. And so do I. I’m not saying you can’t do this project; I’m saying you’re _essential._ Just like you are to us. To _me._ Okay?”

Noah’s breath was coming fast, but he wasn’t yelling anymore. A fat tear rolled down his cheek and settled against his collar.

“That’s the scariest fucking thing, Kurt,” he whispered.

“What is?”

“People. People depending on me. It’s not like a show, where it ends. It doesn’t matter how bad I suck at a role I play. This, if I fuck it up… it never goes away. I’m stuck being a loser, for the rest of my life.”

“Noah.” He shook his head. “You’re about as far from being a loser as anyone could be. Look at where you are, what you’ve accomplished. You’ve built so much with your father. You’re on _Broadway.”_

“My head knows it.” Noah sat back, scrubbing impatiently at his face. “The rest of me, not so much. Not all the time.”

Kurt sat back onto the kitchen floor, looking up at Noah’s conflicted face and trying not to give into the frustration he felt. “Can you tell me how it is for the rest of you?”

Noah stared at the wall for a long time, reaching up every now and then to wipe away more tears. Finally he returned his gaze to Kurt.

“You went to Dalton, back in junior year.”

Kurt nodded. He didn’t dare say anything else.

“I thought I was dealing with it until you came back for winter break, and you came over to my house to find me. It was so easy to fall back into that act, the one that let me say _fuck it_ to everything I cared about. Everything I wanted, that went into a box, and I just performed the role that made me feel most powerful.” His eyes hardened. “And then you came back, and—I couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t feel powerful?”

“I couldn’t pretend. Because I was _hurt_ when you left. Even though you did it for a good reason, even though you were safer there. Even though you came back eventually. I hadn’t dealt with you leaving, and then you _were_ back, and—I was sure it was never going to get better. That you were just going to leave, over and over, and I was going to feel that helpless and lonely for the rest of my life.” He sighed. “I know, it’s crazy. I never said it made sense.”

Kurt touched his knee, and Noah put a hand on his. “It was like your dad had left, all over again?”

“Worse,” Noah said. “Because you were actually the kind of family I wanted, not like how my dad used to be. Except then you left, and it was a worse betrayal. Families leave, I knew that, but I was hoping…” He shrugged, looking at his lap. “I was willing to take chances with everything but that. Everything but the person who really meant something to me.”

There was no question in Kurt’s mind that he meant something to Noah, but that didn’t stop the warm feeling from blooming in his chest. He nodded, and squeezed Noah’s knee once.

“So, uh. I talked to my dad about it in therapy.”

“Oh.” Kurt swallowed. “How was that?”

“He had a lot of guilt. About leaving, about the heroin, but mostly that he knew he couldn’t be counted on to be the kind of family he thought my mom deserved. Probably what he thought all three of them deserved, except he wasn’t talking to me about that yet. You know what he said? He quoted Gretzky to me.” He smiled at the blank look on Kurt’s face. “He’s a hockey player. Gretzky said, ‘You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.’ That trying and failing was better than giving up.”

“Your dad said you shouldn’t give up on—me?”

He nodded. “Except I also made _you_ promise you wouldn’t compromise to be with me.”

Kurt let out a slow breath. “I think that would have worked a lot better if I hadn’t missed you so much when we were apart. Being alone wasn’t the problem. Without you, I felt like… a fraction of myself. Every day you were gone, when I bothered to let myself think about it, it was painfully obvious exactly how much of a difference you make.”

Noah was staring at him, flinching like the words were a knife, cutting into his flesh. “Kurt…”

“And no matter how much we fight,” Kurt went on fiercely, “or how many times you struggle, I feel fortunate that I still get to share the hard parts with you.” He held up their joined hands. “Not someone _like_ you. _You.”_

Now Noah was crying again, but now he was also smiling. Finally, he laughed, shakily. When Kurt pulled himself to his feet using their hands as a lever, he provided support, and then Kurt tugged Noah the rest of the way to his feet.

“You know when I knew it was possible?” Kurt said. “When I saw Finn and Michael perform _Sunday in the Park,_ after we got back from Usdan. Mrs. Wright told me you were there, too.”

Noah’s attention was still trained on his face. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have missed it.”

“Bryce told us it’s the audience that makes theater happen. That it’s the perception, impacting the art, and the perceiver, that causes it. But it wasn’t until I saw that show that it really made sense.” He moved in close to Noah, resting a comforting hand on his shirt. “George Seurat, he said we perceive red and blue _and_ violet, all at once. We can hold more than one reality, more than one truth in our heads simultaneously.” The other hand stroked over Noah’s face, eliciting a quick intake of breath. “Noah, you can be scared of what you want and in love with me at the same time. I can love you for who you are, and still want more, still need more. Both of those things are true. They still are.”

He kissed Noah, being careful not to let himself get carried away by it. Then he hugged him for a long time, feeling the way Noah’s body relaxed into his.

“You’re so good to me,” Noah murmured.

“I’m good,” Kurt agreed. “And you’re good. But both of us are better together. No, I mean it,” he said, as Noah sighed. He grasped Noah’s shoulders and held his gaze. “Think about it. Your art and mine, together, reveal more to the eye. They combine to be more than they are alone, not just inherently, but in the way they are perceived.” He smiled encouragingly. “Noah, we’re making something amazing together, something better than either of us could alone. Just like there’s no way I could have written my play without your ideas.”

Noah let out a reluctant laugh. “Well, that’s lucky, because I have a fuck-ton of them.”

“This idea you’re working on now, it’s a really good one. Are you still going to let me help?”

“Let you?” Noah shook his head. “Babe, I _need_ you to help. I seriously can’t do this without you.”

Kurt knew if he stood there too long, feeling the import of those words, that he was going to begin crying, too. Instead he smiled back. “Okay, then. Let’s get back to it.”

* * *

“Puck said he’d be a little late.” Kurt handed Asher his coat and kissed his cheek. “Thanks so much for having us over for dinner.”

He could see Blaine in the kitchen, and hear other voices in the rooms beyond. Blaine and Asher’s apartment seemed even more spacious than usual, now that they’d packed their things into storage for their semester in France.

Kurt nudged Asher, pointing at the suitcases in the foyer. “This is all you, right?”

“Oh, no,” Asher said, grinning. “That’s all Blaine. I made him start packing last week. He gets one more bag for last-minute stuff. I’ll pack on Wednesday.”

Kurt laughed. “You’ve got managing him down to a science.” 

He just nodded. “It’s a labor of love.”

The spread of _hors’d'oeuvres_ on the table was more extensive than Kurt had expected, even given Blaine’s appreciation for extravagance. Kurt picked up a dainty chicken lettuce wrap, eyeing Blaine.

“Am I going to get in trouble for eating this now?” he said to Asher.

“I think you can be forgiven a taste,” Blaine called from the kitchen, without looking up from the cutting board.

“Oops.” Kurt munched with pleasure. “Judging by the amount of food on this table, it looks like you must have invited your entire graduating class. Who else is coming?”

“We’ll see,” Asher said evasively. “Chris is on the balcony with Anthony and Oliver. You want red or white?”

The dusting of snow on the rooftops and sidewalks hadn’t touched Blaine’s covered balcony overlooking 59th Street. Kurt paused inside the living room, watching the tentative contact between Chris and Oliver, Chris’s hand on his back, drawing him closer.

Asher put the wine glass in his hand, following his gaze. “Not sure what to make of that.”

“Oliver’s nobody’s fool,” Kurt said. “If he wants it, he’ll figure out how to get it, and Anthony will think it was his idea the whole time.”

“Heh. I suppose you would know how that works.”

“It’s not the same.” Kurt sipped his wine. “I’ve been grateful to have supportive friends these last couple years, but I think you all knew my heart was never really in anything we were doing.”

Asher nodded. He looked like he was suppressing a smile. “We had some idea about what you actually wanted.”

“Not all of us are lucky enough to wind up roommates at prep school with Mr. Right.”

He laughed. “No, that was definitely Blaine’s doing, even if I didn’t know it yet. But it all worked out.”

Asher went to answer the doorbell the next time it rang, but it wasn’t Noah. Aaron came in first, leaning on his cane, and Felix followed.

“Blaine invited Noah’s _dad?”_ Kurt asked Anthony, who came in from the balcony to hug him. “I didn’t know they even knew each other.”

“Don’t ask me,” said Anthony. “I’m just here for the food. And the adorable relationship drama.”

“Since when are you _looking_ for drama in your relationship?”

Anthony smiled placidly. “Who says I’m talking about my relationship?”

That was too opaque for Kurt to interpret, and he decided to ignore it and focus on Aaron and Felix instead. They both gave him hugs.

“Not tonight,” Felix said, “but later this week, let’s talk about our parameters for investment in your project.”

Kurt blinked. “Wow. Noah really does move fast. We just talked about this on Thursday.”

“Actually, he brought it up with us weeks—uh.”

Kurt looked back and forth between Aaron, who was glaring, and Felix, who did about as good an innocent look as Asher did. “Okay, is somebody going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not tonight,” Felix repeated. He chuckled at Kurt’s eye-roll. “Fine. If you must know, we think we can probably cover your initial costs, but Noah has a potential second investor lined up.”

“Ruth would like to help,” Aaron said.

Kurt took a step back, watching them both for long enough that he was sure they weren’t kidding, then let out an incredulous laugh. “Ruth. Ruth theater-is-a-bad-influence Puckerman?”

“To be more specific, the Dayton Opera House would be the official investor. We have some thoughts about how that might work for tax purposes. But it was still Noah’s idea, and Ruth said yes.” He touched Kurt’s shoulder. “Whatever she thinks about Noah’s involvement in the theater, she likes _you.”_

The doorbell rang again, but Kurt ignored it, still agape. Aaron’s eyes twinkled.

“Happy Hanukkah, Kurt,” Felix said. “We’re just glad we can help.”

“They’re waiting,” Oliver called from the balcony.

“Okay, everyone.” Blaine raised his voice, clasping his hands together as he addressed the apartment. “We’re heading downstairs for a little bit.Take the right-hand express elevator, then head left toward the front entrance.”

Kurt took his coat from Asher with mounting annoyance. “Would somebody _please—”_

“Think of it as an exercise in coping with uncertainty.” Chris took Kurt’s hand. “Come on, Whiny Smurf.”

Kurt remained reluctantly silent during the whole elevator ride to the ground floor. They shuffled him out to the front, where the doorman nodded and smiled and said, “There you go, Mr. Hummel.”

“Why aren’t you wearing your coat?” he asked Chris. “None of you are—” Then he saw the gathering of people in the courtyard in front of Blaine’s building, and he stopped abruptly where he was on the stone steps.

“He’s here,” Bobby said, with barely repressed excitement.

Victor came forward with Hugo and grabbed Kurt’s hands, towing him up the ramp to stand by the garden overlook. It had long been closed for winter, but the elevated platform provided a good view of the entire courtyard.

As Hugo and Victor returned to stand by the rest of the assortment of performers from _Cabaret_ , he could see the way they were all moving into formation. Not just the Kit Kat Boys, either, but Blaine was joining them, along with Chris and Asher and Anthony and—

“Noah,” Kurt blurted, “what are you doing?”

Noah stood in the front, nattily attired in a suit jacket Kurt had never seen before. Most of the passersby along 59th had stopped to watch, and they were amassing quite an audience. He held a pitch pipe to his lips and blew a note.

“I’m doing what Romeo would have done,” he said to Kurt, gazing up at him from below. “I’m making a move.”

Blaine was the one to give the count, but they all began singing in unison, with Noah singing lead and Hermann beatboxing. From the first note, Kurt started laughing, pressing his hands to his mouth. It wasn’t a pop sonnet this time. It was more like Noah had recreated the Warblers, from their tight harmonies to their synchronized choreography, right there in Blaine’s courtyard:

<https://youtu.be/oCBPwqUIDks>

_Hey, I've been watching you._  
_Every little thing you do_  
_Every time I see you pass by my homeroom class_  
_Makes my heart beat fast_

_I've tried to page you twice_  
_But I see you roll your eyes_  
_Wish I could make you real_  
_But your lips are sealed_  
_That ain't no big deal_

_'Cause I know you really want me_  
_I hear your friends talk about me_  
_So why you trying to do without me_  
_When you got me where you want me_

_Hey Juliet_  
_I think you're fine_  
_You really blow my mind_  
_Maybe someday you and me can run away_  
_I just want you to know_  
_I wanna be your Romeo…_

He looked at Oliver, Aaron, and Felix standing beside him. Oliver didn’t look even a little bit surprised. He adjusted his glasses, smiling at Kurt.

“They’ve been practicing for weeks,” he said, “but this is even better than I expected it to be.”

Aaron was clearly captivated. Felix slid an arm around him, and Kurt saw Aaron lean his head on Felix’s shoulder. His expression was as proud as Kurt had ever seen it.

It was justified. Kurt cycled between blushing and giggling through the whole second verse, but Noah was just _going for it,_ with every bit of bravado and expression he could muster.

_Girl you got me on my knees_  
_Beggin' please, baby please_  
_Got my best DJ on the radio waves sayin,’_  
_"Hey Juliet, why do you do me this way?”_

_Too far to turn around_  
_So I'm gonna stand my ground_  
_Gimme just a little bit of hope_  
_With a smile or a glance_  
_Give me one more chance_

_Cause I know you really want me_  
_I hear your friends talk about me_  
_So why you tryin' to do without me_  
_When you got me where you want me…_

He wound up on one knee below Kurt’s balcony view, his arms spread for the big finish. The assembled crowd applauded and whistled, while Noah beamed up at him, breathing hard.

“Oh, my god.” Kurt shook his head as the ensemble gave one another hugs and high-fives. “What—who even _are_ you?”

“Neither Romeo nor a Montague, fair saint,” called Noah, “if either thee dislike.”

Blaine helped Noah to his feet and they hugged.

“All right,” Blaine gestured to the ensemble, “back upstairs for dinner, everybody. We’re in 1628.”

Noah accepted everyone’s hugs and praise with complete ease, but when Kurt made it down the ramp and approached him, he became suddenly shy.

“I know you don’t really like surprises,” Noah said. “But I figured go big or go home.”

Kurt opened his arms, and Noah stepped inside gladly. “It was amazing. I really mean that. When did you even have time to organize this?”

“Didn’t you know? Your friends are fucking sneaky.” Noah took his arm as they re-entered the building. The doorman gave them both a thumbs-up. “And we may have practiced in Studio 54 after hours.”

“Oh, is that what _going to the movies_ really was?” Kurt gave him a goose that made him laugh. “For a little while there, I thought you might be cheating on me.”

“No, Kurt.” Noah’s smile softened. “Not cheating on you.”

Kurt nodded. The lump in his throat was making it hard to talk. “No. I know you weren’t.”

“That was so good,” said a man to Noah, clutching his arm as he exited the elevator with his family. “We were watching from the sixth floor.”

Kurt gazed at Noah’s flushed face while the elevator made its slow ascent. “Any particular occasion for this performance?”

“Well,” Noah said, and chuckled nervously. “I think once I promised you more than flowers on our anniversary.”

“I remember that conversation. And this definitely qualifies as more. But…” He was aware of the entire elevator listening to their conversation with bated breath, and gave up. “Thank you.”

Even with the whole ensemble of Kit Kat Club boys present, there was still plenty of space in Blaine and Asher’s apartment for Kurt to circulate with his plate of food. The constant smile on his face did make it hard to eat, but he wasn’t about to complain.

“And you had no idea he was planning this?” Felix asked, marveling.

“I suppose it’s not the sort of thing that would fall outside the realm of possibility,” Kurt admitted, “considering our Glee club experiences, but it’s been a long time since any of us did anything as elaborate as this.”

“Remember the Gap Attack?” Blaine said.

“I was thinking it was more like the Barbravention,” Noah added.

“Hey,” Kurt said, smiling, “you called it the Barbravention.”

Noah shrugged. “I’m a little less of an asshole than I used to be.”

It took another half hour of delicious food and socializing before Kurt was able to draw Noah aside to finish their conversation.

“So whose idea was this, exactly?” he asked, closing the bedroom door behind him.

“It was sort of a collaborative effort.” Noah sat on the edge of Asher and Blaine’s immaculately-made bed. “Blaine talked me into it, so I’m going to say blame him if you hated it.”

“I didn’t hate it,” Kurt insisted. “Not at all. I must admit, I’m still a little confused, though. I mean… I know my memory isn’t quite what yours is, but… well, to be honest, I’m not sure which anniversary we’re celebrating.”

Noah smiled. “You want me to name them all?”

“I didn’t say—”

“June 22, 2008, the day we sang Whiter Shade of Pale under the stairs at the Encore. August 16, 2008, the night you wouldn’t let me drive home drunk after Henry's Grease cast party, and made me sleep on your couch.” He patted the bed beside him, and Kurt sat with a long-suffering theatrical sigh. “October 3, 2008, Twelfth Night at the Dayton Opera House, which, by the way, was also the night my dad counts as our first date. June 26—”

“Your _dad_ gets an opinion?”

“Shh. June 26, 2010, the day you told me you loved me before I left for Usdan. November 7, 2010, getting into your pants, also at the opera house.” Noah leaned over and put his lips against Kurt’s ear. “November 16, 2010, the day you fucked me in your car.”

Kurt groaned, pushing him away. “We are not having sex on Blaine and Asher’s bed.”

“Did I say we were? May 21, 2011, when we danced together at prom…”

“None of which happened in December. I mean, I don’t even know which of those would be our anniversary to begin with. I hope it’s not the first one, because I was pissed at you in June and I skipped it on purpose.”

“It’s not the first one.”

“So?” Kurt spread his hands. “What _are_ we celebrating?”

“I was thinking more like we needed a new event to commemorate. Well, two, really. Can I add one more date to the list? June 24, 2011.” Noah put his hand on Kurt’s leg. “Gay marriage was legalized in New York.”

“Oh.” Kurt remained frozen where he was, seated on the bed, as Noah knelt on the floor beside him. “Oh—no.”

“Not really the answer I was looking for.” He slid a hand into his suit jacket and took something out of the inside pocket, gazing up at Kurt earnestly. “To be honest, I didn’t think one more excuse to celebrate was going to faze you.”

Kurt fiercely blinked away tears, attempting to maintain his poise.

“To spare you any possible disappointment, Mr. Worthing,” he said severely, “I think it only fair to tell you quite frankly beforehand that I am fully determined to accept you.”

Noah laughed, shaking his head. Kurt could see the twinkle of something sparkly embedded in the shiny band of gold he held in his fingers.

“Kurt…” he began.

“Yes, Mr. Worthing,” Kurt whispered, “what have you got to say to me?”

“You know what I have got to say to you.”

“Yes, but…” He swallowed around a sudden obstruction in his throat. “But you don’t _say_ it.”

“Yeah. It took me a long time. Sometimes I can be slow. I hope you won’t hold that against me.” He lifted the ring for Kurt’s inspection, but the details were impossible for Kurt to see through his blur of tears. “Kurt, will you—”

“Yes, yes,” he interrupted, nearly knocking Noah over by inserting himself into his arms. Noah caught him, kissing his face, and held him fast as Kurt let out a fevered sigh. “Of course I will. How long you have been about it!” 

“Well…” Noah sat him down on his bent knee, so they were just nose to nose. Kurt reached out and wiped his own tears off Noah’s cheek. “You know I think you deserve your happy ending, but I’ve become convinced getting married isn’t it. This is just another part of the confusing middle. The happy ending comes a lot later, with a little luck.”

Kurt held his hand as steady as he could while Noah slid the ring on over his knuckle. It took a little effort to make it fit, but together, they managed.

“I don’t believe in luck,” Kurt said.

“Yeah, well, I don’t believe in marriage. Or romance, or happily ever after. It’s not about any of those things.” Noah took Kurt’s hand in his, running his thumb over the ring. “It’s about us, together, every day. That’s something I can believe in. Is that enough for you?”

Kurt nodded emphatically, and squeezed Noah’s hand. “I couldn’t ask for a better way to begin.”

* * *

_Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up  
_ _In the morning when the day is new?  
_ _And after having spent the day together  
_ _Hold each other close the whole night through?_

_Happy times together we've been spending_  
_I wish that every kiss was never ending  
_ _Oh, wouldn't it be nice?_

\- [The Beach Boys, “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” from _The Big Chill_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nZBKFoeDKJo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series centered on Puck discovering who he was, moving through various personae, as teenagers do, and Kurt witnessing him doing it. Puck was the performer, and Kurt was the audience, and they were both transformed by the experience. If you would have asked me at the beginning of writing this story, or even in the middle of the story, if I knew that was what it was about, I would have said no. I discovered it as I went along. 
> 
> Writing is transformative, but fanfic even more so, because I, the writer, am transformed by the creation of the perceived art as I make it. Sondheim knew that, but I had no idea he was going to say it so succinctly until this spring, when I heard [these words from the song "Beautiful" from Sunday in the Park with George](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mp1lOSkjDbg): 
> 
> Pretty isn't beautiful, Mother  
> Pretty is what changes  
> What the eye arranges  
> Is what is beautiful
> 
> I said, HOLY SHIT. "Those Magic Changes My Heart Arranges" suddenly had new meaning. Random, unexpected, and perfect. That's fucking amazing. That’s how it has felt to write this series for the past seven years.
> 
> Thanks for being the perceivers of my performance; I have been transformed by it. 
> 
> -amy


End file.
